


Do You Miss Me Up There

by shslshark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, but also good??, clietro - Freeform, hawksilver - Freeform, it's got the others but not like super much, kinda sad, original universe sort of, uh yeah?? YEAH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shslshark/pseuds/shslshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint ends up risking himself to save Pietro after the battle with Ultron, and the two end up acting rather... different towards each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> um?? Please leave a comment if you want to on whether you liked it or not. Thanks for reading! Also kudos are A+

"You didn't see that coming?"

Then he was gone.

"No," Clint whispered, picking the kid up as time slowed. Was he moving? How was the ship getting closer if he wasn't going away from the body? He was running, he knew that, but he should have been running towards him, not away. 

As he climbed onto the ship, he felt his shoulder being grabbed as he tried to hop back off after putting the boy down.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Natasha barked, trying to grab onto his sleeve and pull him back onto board.

"Pietro's still out there!" He yelled over the roar of the thrusters. "Let go of me!"

"Are you insane? We have to leave him!" She shouted back, but was cut off when Clint jabbed an arrow into her hand and made her drop him. He crashed to the ground, his back landing on some heavy rubble. Groaning, Clint stood and began running off to go find the speedster, Natasha screaming in the background for him to come back.

Good thing his hearing impediment drowned her out.

"Pietro? Pietro!" He yelled, searching among the rubble where he had shielded the boy, and the other had lost his life. "Pietro, please!"

He couldn't help but think back to when they had apprehended the twins only a week or so ago. After that mission, every time he saw the brat, he would get a funny feeling inside him, like someone was boiling water in his stomach. He didn't really like it, so he filed it under I Don't Want to Give More Than Two Minutes of Thought on This, and he called it a day. It wasn't a thing about going from enemies to allies, because he didn't feel this way about Wanda at all. 

Maybe he was just being weird about it all. Again.

He spotted a flash of silver hair sticking up from behind a large boulder. Clint ran to it and came around to find the bloody body of his teammate.

"No, no, no no no, this isn't real," he felt hot tears pool at his eyes as he knelt down and heaved Pietro up. What was happening to him? Approximately twenty minutes ago, he was making a joke about how he wouldn't miss the kid at all. And here he was, sniveling over his corpse.

What had this guy done to him?

"You're gonna be okay," he urged a faint smile to come to his lips, not that Pietro could see it. He just thought'd it would be nice. "I'm gonna get you home, Wanda will be there, we'll all be there. Like a party. A get well soon party." Pull it TOGETHER Barton, you're talking to yourself. He can't hear you, and he can't hear anything else. So why bother? In a way, it was comforting, knowing he could get away with saying whatever he wanted.

Not that he would take the risk of Pietro being able to hear.

If he was even alive.

"How did it feel? Shitty, huh? I'm sure... Listen, I didn't mean for any of this to happen," by now he was slurring words, like he was a drunk that was mad at the world. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's all my fault and I'm sorry," he sniffed and shook his head. "Do you see this? What I'm doing right now? I'm crying because you couldn't just let me take those bullets for you! Because you, you had to just go ahead and come up with that cheesy catchphrase that made my chest wring and my head spin and your stupid SMILE that you thought would be good to flash at a time like that. Now it's frozen on your face. Nice going, dummy." He felt his chest rise and fall with each heartbeat, each struggle to keep moving under the weight of the other.

"Everything will be okay," he sputtered and choked back an audible sob that threatened to release itself from his throat. Crying. What a way to present himself in the best light. He had to physically stop to gather himself together enough for him to continue.

What was Pietro thinking?

The kid was literally ready to slit Clint's throat, and now he was taking a bullet (several, actually) for him? What was the point? Clint wasn't even sure he would have done the same for the other.

Another thought to file away.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Clint was running now, sobbing between words and trying to wipe his eyes enough so he could see. "Why'd ya do it, you bastard? It makes no sense, why? Why do you do this to me? I should be fine! I should be on that plane back to safety! You're dead for all I know, and yet I'm lugging your lifeless body out into the open, where I could probably die, in hopes that you would get the help that you need. Maybe I'm the idiot."

The only reason Clint stopped running was because he finally noticed the hole piercing his side.

He slowed, unaware of what had happened. Pain reflexes hadn't struck yet, and the metal bit was clattering away onto some tile. He stared at it, blankly, like he was a kid and it was a frog he wasn't sure he wanted to catch or not. Blood was seeping from the wound, and Pietro was falling. 

No, Clint wasn't going to let that happen again. Especially not if it was because of him.

He took another staggered step forward, pain suddenly searing through his body. A bullet, from somewhere unknown, had blasted through his left abdomen. He shakily fell to his knees, keeping Pietro supported the whole time. Someone was screaming for him, for Pietro, and he was being lifted into the air by a red bubble. 

He screamed, fighting the force that was trying to separate him and the other. He wasn't letting go, and he never planned on it until the fast one was in better care.

Vision blurry, he fought to keep conscious and hold onto the body. "I won't let you go again!" He yelled, shivers racking his body as he felt the soft fabric of that dumb shirt slip from his fingers. "Don't take him! Please!" 

This was all his fault. If he hadn't just moved a little further, if he hadn't just taken the initiative to let the bullets go through him, to have pushed Pietro out of the way so it was him to be done with, not the other way around. He wasn't going to let anyone else hurt him, not until he had at least returned the favor of having his life saved. 

Just before everything went black, he felt himself falling, and he knew Pietro's pain all at once.

He vowed to never let the other go through that again.

Even if he was a brat.


	2. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially... Like a warm up chapter for the next so bear with me here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again kudos and comments are v v nice so!!

"Ugh."

Natasha glanced up from the book she had in her lap as Clint slowly sat up in the hospital bed. "Hey there," she grinned and stood up to walk over to him. "Sleep well?"

"Where am I?" the archer replied groggily, confused as to what was going on, and why there was a bright light directly in his face. Fluorescents always bothered him. 

"Infirmary. You got your ass kicked by a ricocheting bullet that bounced off a car door," Nat responded, rolling her eyes, as though getting shot was the easiest thing in the world. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," Clint grunted as he smacked his hand down on the end table and searched around blindly for a bit before realizing that there was no cup of coffee there, and there wouldn't be one until he asked. "Coffee. Please?" he whined, like he was a four year old and Nat was his annoyed mother. 

"Fine," she sighed and stood up, leaving Clint alone. He blinked, gathering his senses before one word hit him in the face like a train. 

Pietro.

He jumped, nearly falling out of bed. Pietro. Was he okay? Did he survive? How long had he been out? Scrambling out of his sheets, Clint stumbled and nearly smacked into the wall across from him. He had to find him. He had to know.

Clint had to know if he survived.

As he moved along (clumsily, if anything) down the hall, he bumped into Tony.

"Clint! Hey man, good to see you up. How ya feel?"

"Have you seen him?" the other replied, eyes wide with worry.

"Huh? Seen who? You've been out for four days, I'm not sure if you should be moving around this much. Lets get you back to your room, maybe Pepper will make you some food or something." 

"Pietro. Have you seen him?" 

"I think he's in his room, but he woke up before you. He said something about him not being an old man and healing quicker," Tony chuckled. "If anything, he's not running quite yet. I'd go catch him now. But hey, didn't you say you didn't like that kid? Why'd you go back to get him?" Tony was talking to empty air as Clint disappeared around the corner, hobbling all the way. "Clint?"

He had no idea where he was going. Asking every agent that came into sight, he would always turn away disappointed, as they said they were too low of a level to know that classified information.

Then he heard it.

"So I got him almost killed?" Pietro's accent came from down a corridor. "Ironic, since I was trying to save him."

"It was his choice to go back and get you. Without him, you wouldn't be alive right now," Wanda's higher voice rang out, clear as day. Clint followed the sounds until he was standing outside the doorway, hiding behind the wall. "Why are you so concerned? You should be grateful."

"Yeah, I know, and I am. It's just... odd, I suppose. I have not felt this way in quite some time."

"What way?"

"I am not sure. Loathing? No, no, definitely not. Gratitude is certainly a big part, but something else is funny, and I am not sure what it is. I suppose I should just forget about it," he shrugged and laid down. "May I take a nap?"

"No need to ask," Wanda giggled and rolled her eyes. She had missed her brother; two days was a lot for her side to be silenced. "Do you want me to get you something?"

"A knife so I can gut this feeling out," he whispered, but went unheard. "No. Thank you," he said, more audible. "I am fine."

"Okay, I will wake you up in an hour. Sleep well," she walked out and shut the door. Clint had hid behind an open door, hoping not to be spotted.

He was, to say the least.

"Barton?" Wanda called, walking down the hall to him. "I see you are doing better! How do you feel?" 

"Like shit," he grinned, trying to keep the mood light. "How's your brother?" 

"Fine. Much better, at least. He greatly appreciates what you did for him."

"Yeah, I appreciate what he did for me. You too, since you got us out of there."

"Yes, I suppose I did. What brings you down here?"

"Oh, well I was just going to see if he was awake yet, see if the bastard beat me. Apparently, he has," he laughed as Wanda pushed him gently and smiled. "I just had to make sure he was okay..."

"I don't advise you talk to him now, he's napping," Wanda said before eyes widening and she giggled as Clint turned around to see what she was laughing at.

"What? Is it my hair?"

"No, no, I just remembered that before you go in there to check on him, change out of your hospital clothes. When they dress you, they... Uh..."

"What?"

"They don't give you underwear."

"Oh my god," Clint involuntarily covered himself (even though he had clothes over it) and felt his face flush. "Yeah, you're right. I'm gonna go put my clothes on."

"You do that. Can you wake Pietro up in an hour? I was going to go down to the lab with Banner for a bit so I could help him move some heavier things around."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Clint nodded, acting nonchalant. "I can do that."

"Thank you," she walked away, opening a door without touching it and disappearing into the other rooms of the base.

"Of course I can do that."

Clint wouldn't miss him waking up by his side for the world.


	3. Please, No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :))))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is essentially me screaming into the void (PLEASE COMMENT LOL)

Clint tugged his jeans up as they slid down his waist a tad. Saying hello to Vision as he passed, he made his way down to Pietro's room.

He never dreaded anything more in his life.

He wanted to go see him, didn't he? He wanted to go make sure he was okay. But something was off, and he didn't know what. Something made him want to stop and turn around, then run as far away as he could from the quickster. 

What was wrong with him?

"God," he muttered, rubbing his stubbly face. His heart felt as though it would beat out of his chest; he shouldn't have a pulse so high for something like this.

As he rounded the corner, he strode up to the door and cracked his neck, nervous as can be and fidgeting, shifting his weight back and forth until he took a breath and turned the knob.

"Hey," he walked in, leaving the door open behind him. "You gotta get up. Wanda said to wake you." He paused, waiting for a response. "Pietro?

Nothing.

"Come on, wake up. I'm gonna get yelled at if you don't." 

Still, nothing.

"Lets go, slow poke." Clint jabbed him in the side with his finger. "Up and at 'em."

Silence.

Clint frowned and shook him gently, watching his head loll from side to side. "Pietro? This isn't funny anymore. Get up."

Pietro didn't move an inch. 

"I'm serious, get up," he said, more stern this time, voice heavy with concern. "Right now," he added, nudging him in the chest. Something was wrong, horribly wrong, and he had a peculiar feeling that Pietro wasn't playing a prank.

"Stop playing around!" he barked, his chest welling with a sudden fear. "Get up! Right now! It's not funny, Pietro, enough is enough."

Clint gently pressed two fingers to the other's neck, feeling for a pulse. Silence flowed through his fingertips and stabbed him in the heart. He put his palm over Pietro's mouth and felt no air coming out.

Pietro was dead.

"No," Clint whispered as he yanked the chain that signaled the nurse needed to come immediately. One appeared around the corner about a minute later.

"Agent Barton? Is everything alright?" she asked, walking over to Pietro.

"He's not moving, he's... he's not breathing," he choked out, his vision starting to fuzz. "Why isn't he waking up?"

The nurse swallowed and dialed in an emergency team, calling for backup and bustling around the room to get prepped. "He's gone into shock, slipped away in his sleep. We need to revive him, fast," she breathed, trying to push Clint out of the room. "You need to leave immediately."

"Are you serious?" Clint snapped, moving away from her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You have to," she shoved him out the door as a rush of doctors came in. "I'm sorry."

"No! No, let me back in! You have to let me in," he yelled at the now shut door in his face. He felt his insides falling to the floor as he banged on the door. A shout of "CLEAR" came from behind the door, and a shocking noise zapped through the metal.

Pietro was dying again, and he wasn't there to help.

Clint waited outside the door for three hours until he was let back inside. 

"Is he okay? What happened?" he rushed, terrified the operation, or whatever they did, wasn't a success. 

"He's in a coma. It may take him a week or more to wake up, but he's stable for now and will be okay. His heartbeat is irregularly slow, but it's enough to keep him alive. Don't touch him if you can help it." With that, the doctors filed out of the room and disappeared down the hallway back from whence they came. 

Clint pulled up a chair, sat down, and began his wait.

~~~

"I'm really worried about him," Natasha said to Bruce as they sipped coffee in the commons. "He hasn't eaten, slept, or moved for three days. The only thing he gets up for is the bathroom, and he's completely unresponsive to anything others do to him."

"Barton's tough, and after what he went through with Ultron, I understand why he would be so concerned. To let a life slip through your fingers twice is no picnic," he responded, tapping a pen on the table. "His vitals are low, I'm sure, but I say he can go about a day more before he crashes."

"He's got a constant stream of tears running down his face. I honestly hate to see him like this," Nat sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Should we go check on them?"

"If you wish to," Banner said as he stood and began walking towards the room the two were stuck in. 

When they entered, Natasha almost let out a laugh, a mix between a sigh of relief and a noise of happiness getting stuck in her throat. Clint was passed out on the chair, one arm thrown over the back and the other firmly connected around the bed frame, keeping him upright. He had his hand tightly clasped in the other's, and Pietro laid completely still, unmoving yet stable. 

"You baby," she whispered as she walked to his side and wiped his face off with a wet tissue. "At least you stopped crying."

Bruce smiled and nodded, saying something about how the archer needed a bed to sleep properly in, but they didn't have the strength by themselves to carry him all the way to his room, and his grip on Pietro was so tight that neither one of them could even begin to pry them apart.

Through some awkward maneuvering, they somehow managed to rest Clint comfortably in the bed beside Pietro, where Clint immediately wrapped himself around the other, curling into a ball and letting out a snore. 

Natasha couldn't help but laugh.

"As soon as he wakes up, we need to get some food into him. He's got to be starving, after three days," the scientist said as he shook his head. "They sure are hanging on, aren't they?"

"Yeah, they are. Little troopers," Nat nodded and smiled, happy to see her best friend and teammate getting better. "Sleep well, you nerds," she whispered as she walked out.

She shut the door just as Pietro's heart beat sped up to a normal pace.


	4. The Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and leave kudos please!!

As soon as he woke up, he was met with blazing eyes, ones with a dark ring around them and soft middles, silver flecks darting across the iris that made them look like they were small fish swimming in a sea of blue.

Clint let out a scream.

Pietro screeched back, launching himself away from the other. Clint did the same, uttering something about being scared shitless. 

"What were you doing in my bed?!" the quickster snapped, standing up woozily after having stumbled across the room.

"What WAS I doing in your bed?" Clint muttered, utterly confused. He never got up to get in it...? "Someone must have moved me," he said, shaking his head. "I definitely didn't just..."

"Sure, like I believe you didn't want to get close to this," Pietro waved his hands, gesturing to his body. He gave a laugh and coughed violently. "We're in rough shape."

"Yeah, I guess," Clint blinked and felt his head spin.

Then it hit him.

He was alive.

"You're alive," he whispered, speaking his thoughts aloud. "You're alive."

"Uh, yeah, I am, thanks for noticing," Pietro smirked, a look that could send shivers down your back. "All because of you, I guess."

"You're alive," Clint repeated. "You're... You're alive."

"Yep, in the flesh, living and breathing air, just like you," he said, sarcasm dripping like venom, yet a slight hint of concern hid underneath it. Was Clint delusional? Of course he was alive; he was just that solely because the other had saved him.

Clint felt his chest restrict and his heart pound as he walked across the room. He reached a hand out but stopped, unsure of what he wanted to do. His fingertips brushed Pietro's stubble, a prickly feeling, one he wasn't used to. 

It felt fantastic.

It was so real, so real that he couldn't have been imagining this. 

Yet what if he was? What if Wanda was just trying to make him feel better by producing an image of her brother for him? What if she had gotten into his brain, and he was crazy?

"Clint?" Pietro whispered, suddenly deeply worried. "Are you okay?" He raised his hand to hold the other's, lifting it from his face and settling it back by his side. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Suddenly, Clint felt his world crumble.

Pietro would never be that gentle with him. He was being too caring, too kind. The only side of him Clint had ever seen was the sarcastic side, fast paced and witty. This was new.

Therefore it wasn't real.

"Get away from me," he snapped, stumbling backwards as he tried to move as far from the other as possible. "Get away!"

"Look, I know you don't like me all that much, but that's not very nice," Pietro frowned, moving towards the other. He was walking slowly, agonizingly slowly, and it took all his will not to run away. "Does my breath smell?"

"Don't come near me!" Clint barked, hopping behind the bed frame and using it to shield himself. Had he gone off the deep end?

"What's wrong with you?" Pietro questioned, equally confused and frightened. What had he done that would cause Clint to act like this towards him? He thought that maybe their relationship had gotten a tad better, after all the shit they've been through together.

"You're not real! Get out of my head! Go away!" Clint screamed, searching for something to throw at the other. "Get out!"

"I'm not real? What on earth makes you think that?"

"GET OUT."

"Clint! Listen to yourself. You just touched me! You should be able to tell if I was real or not," he cried, exasperated. "You're not making any sense."

Clint's chest was rising and falling at an abnormally fast pace, his vision blurring, and his heart racing at a speed that couldn't be healthy. He was seeing things; no way was Pietro really there. He had to be hallucinating. He needed to find Wanda, and he needed to make her get HIM out of his head.

He felt as though the world had dropped and he was plummeting to his demise.

Didn't he just carry the kid out of the rubble that was the battle? Didn't he just call the doctor's to come and save him? Why was he doing this? It was irrational, it was stupid, and it made no sense. 

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Pietro wasn't there.

He wasn't a big fan of the whole mind control thing anyways.

"Don't come any closer," he screamed, throwing his hands up. "Get out of my head!" 

Wanda suddenly appeared in the room, eyes wide with panic. "What's going on in here? I heard screaming."

"Clint doesn't think I'm real," Pietro said over Clint's yelling. "He thinks you're in his head."

"I'm not?" Wanda muttered.

"That's what I'm trying to tell him!"

"Show him you're real or something," she snapped, frowning as Clint slowly sank to the floor and curled up, sobbing. This was a new level of destruction even she hadn't seen in a while. She had no idea that Clint could even do this.

"How?"

"Figure it out!"

Pietro fidgeted and finally dashed over, picking the other up and racing out of the room. Clint looked up as the crack of air whipped in his ears, the world a blur as they roared around the tower. They finally came to a stop in the rafters of the training room, a flat piece of metal suspended by poles that allowed the electricians to fix the wiring if needed. Pietro had found out before the battle that this was Clint's favorite spot. The man loved heights; the closer to the sky he could get, the better.

The archer sat there, stunned, as his world came back into focus. He felt warm, strong arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, like they were scared he would move away. A steady heartbeat could be heard from where Clint was resting his head, and the rise and fall of a chest breathing was slowly lulling him to sleep. 

"Was that real enough for you, old man?" Pietro asked, smirking that dumb smile that made Clint want to slap it off.

Then he realized.

That was real. That was all real. Pietro, the run, everything. Wanda wasn't in his head after all. 

He was real.

Clint let out a sigh of relief as he felt Pietro sit down, still holding him. 

"I understand why you thought I wasn't here or something. I know about what happened with Loki. That must have been awful," he absentmindedly stroked the other's short hair. 

Clint yawned. "Yeah, don't dwell on it too much," he muttered, feeling his eyes shut.

"I won't," Pietro said as he felt Clint tuck his head under his stubbly chin. He smiled, just a little, not enough to be noticeable. Not that anyone was there to see it.

Clint slowly fell away, his breathing slowing and his mind clearing. "Wake me up in the morning."

"It's 1:00 in the afternoon. I'm not sitting here until tomorrow just so you can nap."

"Fine, wake me up when you get restless. I just need," he yawned again. "To take a nap."

The last thing that he remembered was feeling like he was in the safest place in the world, like nothing could harm him, and Pietro would look after him and make sure he was alright. He hadn't felt this way in a long time.

Just another thing to file away and think about later.


	5. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YEAH!!! YEAH!!! HAWKSILVER!!! YEAH!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please comment please comment please comment please

Clint was standing about 30 feet from his target, bow drawn and ready to fire with precision accuracy. He closed one eye, leveled up, and...

Suddenly, he was moving, quicker than sound and his body was being pressed against a thin fabric that shielded pale skin. He let out a squeak; the world was going by in a blur of colors that blended into a watercolor of space. 

Then he realized he was being carried.

"Put me down!" he yelled, angry as the boy carrying him laughed. 

"Am I going too fast, old man?" Pietro slowed and sat him down, giggling like a 4 year old the whole time. 

"I was in the middle of target practice!" he barked, frowning, but his insides were churning at the mere thought that he had been THAT close to Pietro.

Dear lord, why did he just think that.

"You love it when I pick you up. And you adore when I show off."

"Do not."

"Do too!" 

Clint huffed and began walking off as the image shifted. He had a weight in his hands. It was adorned in blue, with a splash of wintery silver at the top. 

No.

Not this again.

He was choking suddenly, waterfalls falling down his cheeks as he fought to breathe and keep going. Gunshots, explosions, they were all silent under the deafening roar of his heartbeat. Everything was hyper-intensified; the light, the colors, the world. It all hurt.

But nothing hurt more than his chest, aching with the weight his arms were carrying.

"Can't you get up and show off how fast you can run, you idiot?" he whispered, and even that blew his ears out. Dust rained from the sky, and he was falling, falling, falling. His breath caught in his lungs as he felt himself smash into a black wall, and his inside deteriorated. 

Pietro was gone.

Therefore, so was his world.

Clint sat up, panting and out of breath, sweat pouring from his chin and onto his shirt. Pietro jerked awake beside him, confused, shaking his hair out as he yawned. "You okay?" he muttered, sleep evident in his voice. "I heard you scream."

"I didn't scream," he muttered, annoyed. "What time is it?"

"I don't know, probably about 6," Pietro replied. "Do you have plans or something? Why did you scream?"

"Will you drop that?"

"Not until you tell me why."

"It's none of your business," Clint sighed as he got up and began walking across the rafters, walking quickly as to resist the urge to bury his face into the other's collarbone and get a hold of his breathing. Pietro stood as well, but he didn't follow, standing as still as possible, suddenly immobile. Clint looked back. "Are you gonna get down or what?"

"Maybe we can stay up here a little longer, yes?" the speedster gulped, glancing over the side of the railing and stepping away from it. 

"Why? We have dinner soon," Clint frowned, walking forward effortlessly, unphased by whatever Pietro was. "Come on. It's only a couple hops."

"No, you do not understand. I am not hungry. I'll stay up here a little longer."

"Oh," Clint smirked, a deep chuckle building at the back of his throat. "I get it."

"What?"

"You're scared of heights," he said. "You weren't thinking earlier, when you took me up here, but now you can see how high up we are, and you're too scared to get down."

"That's not true!"

"Look down."

Pietro gulped and glanced down before feeling his knees go weak and he took a step towards Clint, as if that would help him get over himself. "See? I'm j-just fine."

Clint couldn't help but laugh a little. The other frowned at him, kicking him gently in the shin before quickly putting his foot back down. 

"How do you plan on getting down?"

"I don't."

"You don't plan on leaving?"

"I plan on staying here until someone comes and gets me. Can you tell Wanda to find me and help out?"

"You have to get down, you haven't eaten in three days. If you follow me, I can get you down just fine. Different way you came up, but it's safer."

"I don't think I can do that..."

"Why? Don't trust me?"

Pietro felt his heart pang when Clint said that. Something about those words irked him; he did trust him, but there was another thing, another feeling, and he wasn't sure getting down with Clint was the best way to hide it.

He just didn't know.

"I don't think I will be going with you. I am afraid I will slip, and then fall to my death," he huffed, turning around so not to face the other. He could feel his face burning. Was he really showing his weakness to the last person he would want to know of it?

"How about this. You need food, I need a bathroom, and we both need some sunlight. I'll just... Carry you down the rafters and to the floor. It's really fast and simple, so you won't dwell on it too much. Can you do that?"

Pietro pursed his lips and frowned. Him being picked up and tossed over Clint's shoulder wasn't his idea of fun, but being that close to the archer shouldn't be exciting to him. He sighed, walking forward and nodding.

Clint turned around and let him hop onto his back, positioning him so that he wouldn't fall off. He quickly began moving, jumping from the platform and grabbing a pole that was suspended between two bars that held the roof together. Pietro squeaked; if Clint had missed that, or he let go on accident, he would be falling 50 feet down onto the cold tile floor. He buried his head into the other's shoulder, terrified to look anywhere but the worn out purple shirt he had on. It was better than any other option he had. No way would he have trusted himself to make that leap.

Then why did he trust Clint?

Before he could dwell too much on that thought, he was suddenly sent hurling across to another bar, almost like a horrific set of monkey bars. He bit his tongue to avoid yelping. Clint's voice was the only thing audible over the sound of the buzzing that came with blood rushing to his head.

"You doing alright?"

Pietro mumbled something the other couldn't hear. 

"What was that?"

"I think I'm gonna throw up," he whispered, feeling his stomach contract. 

At least all this distracted him from his real thoughts.

Thoughts of how nice Clint smelt, or how close he was, or how he could feel the taught muscles ripple across his back as he moved. Or his incredible arms, built from years of pulling a string and letting arrows fly. Or how nice his hands were; they were beautiful, some blue and purple veins contrasting against the tan and rough skin of an agent. He desperately wanted those hands running through his hair.

Oh dear.

Pietro squeezed his eyes shut as Clint swung from pole to pole, each one making his heart race and his head pound. Clint was talking to him, words of comfort, but he wasn't paying attention.

That is, until Clint said something that made him almost cry.

"We have to drop here," he said, his voice blurred. "Look down and tell me if you can make it."

Pietro gently lifted his head up, and then put it back down just as fast. He wanted to die; they were about 20 feet up and there was nothing but a tumble mat to break their fall. 

"It's safe, I promise. I've done it tons of times. You just have to land right. Bend your knees and roll forward when you hit the ground. Otherwise, you'll break your feet. We have to drop here, too, because its an upward slant from here, and the height will increase." 

Clint could practically feel Pietro's heartbeat against his back. He sighed. Something about the way it raced made him want it to be pumping for HIM, not for the heights.

He sure knew that his beat for the other way around.

"On the count of three, okay?"

"How about the count of never."

"One."

"Please no."

"Two."

"Do I have to? There has to be another way."

"Three."

Clint didn't feel a difference in the weight of his back as he turned his head to see Pietro clinging onto him for dear life. He sighed; there was no way he would get him off.

Unless...

Thinking fast, he hefted Pietro up and swung him so that he was facing him, his eyes connected to the others. Leaning in, he quickly kissed him, a small kiss, nothing more than a peck. He felt Pietro go slack and fall, watching as he landed on the floor with a heavy thud. He cringed.

"Sorry!" Clint yelled down as he dropped and came over to the quickster, helping him up. "Are you okay?"

"What the hell was that??" he cried, angry yet... awkwardly alright with that.

"I didn't know how else to get you off of me!"

"You couldn't done literally anything else to make me fall!" he barked, scrambling up before bolting away, Clint not getting another word in.

If Clint had seen the blush on Pietro's face, he would have laughed for days.

Clint sighed, watching the other go as he made his way out through a different door. His mind was fuzzy, the memory already lodging into his mind and burning into his "I don't want to think about what just happened" file, and staying there.

He could already hear the laughter he would get tomorrow.

Just don't think about it.


	6. Cut It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More hawksilver for the soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please comment on what ya think!!!

Pietro ran as fast as he could to Wanda's room. He was there in less than 30 seconds, and he had gone from the 4th to 27th floor of the tower. As he stumbled in, falling on her bed, she was just stepping into her boots. 

"Hello brother. What brings you hear?" she asked, curious. Pietro lay on her bed, splayed out like a star. He tried to speak, but his voice cracked and he stopped. "Are you alright?"

"Clint... Me... Fall... Lips... So soft..." he sputtered, still slightly shaking. Whatever that had been, it wasn't what he had wanted at all. He now realized this went much deeper.

That was something he needed.

"What? All I caught was you and lips," she came over to the side, flopping onto his stomach and laying sideways, balancing herself carefully as she relaxed and gently rested the rest of her weight on him. She heard him huff and she smiled.

"Clint kissed me."

Wanda had never gotten up faster than she had at that moment. For a second, she felt like her brother.

"What?!" she cried, angry. "Did you stop him? Was it consensual? Are you upset?" 

"What? Whoa, no no! Don't be mad, he didn't ask or anything, but I didn't exactly min-"

"What is the family rule?" Wanda turned and got in his face, making him scoot back across the bed. She was really scary when need be.

"Not to let others do something without permission."

"And did Clinton Francis Barton get permission to do what he did?"

"No, but he does NOW-"

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"No, he didn't."

"Very good. Now, what are you going to do?"

"Tell him how much I liked it and hope for it to happen again."

"Pietro."

"Fine, fine, I'm going to confront him and tell him that if he wishes to do something like that again, he will need consent from me."

"Very good," she chirped and ruffled her hair. It fell in bouncy ringlets that shined with the fluorescent lights of the room. "So anyways, what exactly happened?"

"Well, I didn't want to jump down from a high spot, and the only way Clint could think to get me down was to catch me off guard by kissing me, which then lead to me speeding away because I was blushing so hard you could see the sun flaring out of my cheekbones. Everything felt fuzzy, and here I am. I think I barked at him, I really hope I didn't..."

"Discourage him," she finished. That was a habit of those two; finishing the other's sentence, as though they were in each other's heads.

Or at least, Wanda was.

"So, when did ya wanna tell me about this little crush?"

"Now seems like a good time," he laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up, red seeping through them.

He was in deep. 

Pietro was honestly surprised, being so open to all his emotions about the other. He felt like he had to hide them, had to make sure they never got out. Vocalizing them made it just seem that much more real; the trust and certainty he felt whenever he was with Clint was so overwhelming and sudden that he had barely any time to prepare. It just kind of hit him, like a train, at top speed.

In other words, he had certainly not seen that coming.

Pietro sighed and rubbed his stubble, feeling it prickle against his fingers. He stared at the wall, watching the small indentions that curved throughout the plaster, pretending that they moved, oceans of off white open for the imagination to interpret. He tried not to see the archer's face.

"Do you think the kiss was meant to just get me down, or it held something more to it?" he whispered, Wanda's magnificent hearing picking up on it right away. 

"I think... That what he did for you on the battlefield held something. It held something deep and something I can't quite identify, but in my opinion, it could be either. Barton is... how do you say? A tough butt to crack."

"Nut."

"Nut to crack," she corrected herself. Her english still wasn't as up to par as she wanted it to be. "I cannot seem to get any reading from him. Before we agreed I wouldn't go through his thoughts, I realized I simply couldn't. There was some sort of barrier, a force that kept me out. I don't know why or how it was there, but I'm sure that if you wanted to find out, you'll have to do it yourself, very bluntly."

"Thanks," the boy squeezed his eyes shut and watched as galaxies danced behind them. "How do you suppose I do this?"

"I don't know, be creative. See what he likes; especially physically. Your prowess is rather strong, and your physique is flawless, so you could play that to your advantage. I recommend asking Natasha for advice," she smiled, grabbing the door knob. "I'm going to go eat something, and you can join if you wish."

"I think I'll just go and find Ms. Romanov," he sputtered, a little scared to ask personal advice from someone he was too frightened to call by her first name. After he had done training with her, he was bruised and beaten so bad that she was who he respected the most out of all the team members, and the one who he would protect and expect protection from the most. In a way, he trusted her, and they were on good terms for that. She was still scary, though.

"Okay," Wanda shut the door and walked out, leaving her brother to silently feel his heart fester in a pool of dread and worry. What if the kiss was just for shock value? It had only lasted for a maximum of ten seconds, not anything significant in the slightest. He thought...

He tried to recall the incident. It wasn't hard; the memory had been etched into his brain like a crack on the sidewalk. He was there again, in Clint's arms, safe and warm. He was okay, as long as he didn't fall.

Which, unfortunately, was what Clint had needed him to do.

He remembered the atmosphere, the cool room, the tension, the pumping hearts and wicked smirks and flashing eyes. When they kissed, sparks flew, fire crackled and burned in the back of his throat, and his stomach went into knots. He had wanted nothing more than to do that forever.

However, when he glanced over Clint's reaction, something was different. There was no expression of utter infatuation written across his features. No, instead, it was a look of regret. A look of regret that read "I wish I wasn't falling for you." This threw Pietro off. Did he enjoy liking him? Or did he loath the other, dismissing the crush as just a silly fling?

Pietro felt his face fall as he zoomed back into reality. The only way to find out was to go to Natasha and get some advice. He hauled himself to his feet, opening the door and running off to her room. 

She was the only one who knew the love of his life better than anyone.

Pietro looked forward to knowing just as much as she in the near future.

If, that is, it all worked out.

Pietro had a funny feeling that things would make a turn; he just didn't know in which direction the future would go. He couldn't have hoped for it to go his way more than he did at that moment.

He was, quite simply, in love. And this mission was one of a personal aspect, Mission "I Will Have Clint Barton As My Boyfriend." Pietro simply hoped he could pull it off. This wasn't like a battle sequence, one where bullets ricocheted through the air and the sound of guns echoed off his ears.

All he could hear during this one was the beating of his heart.

This would be the toughest mission he had ever done.


	7. Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment!!! Comment!!! Comment!!! Please please if you like it comment... Please

Zooming down the hallways, Pietro quickly tried to find the room Clint always trained in. It was confusing and hard to get to, as it was sealed away in the walls, and the only way to get in was to press a specific panel on the floor. Many an agent had stepped on it accidentally and tripped into the room, coffee stumbling and Clint yelling as he let an arrow go inches from their heads. Sure, it wasn't the safest facility, and Fury had asked if Clint wanted a better space, but the archer had been content with what he had. He was never one to be choosy.

Just another thing Pietro adored about him.

He felt his stomach shift as he ran right past an opening in the wall. He back pedaled, noting that Clint hadn't shut the door, and that Natasha had been right.

Clint most certainly, unashamedly, trained without a shirt on.

The runner felt a heat spread through his cheeks as he let his eyes trail. Smooth muscles met seas of crystal grey as he swallowed, stumbling back and pressing himself against the wall, slowing his breathing. 

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

He couldn't do it. Simple as that. He would not, should not, could not possibly do what he was to do next. Was he kidding? Someone of that stature deserved WAY more than the little brat he was, right? Anything given that much physical prowess and finesse surely should be given the best of the best. He was too immature, too childish, too selfish, and, in his eyes, too unsightly. He didn't think he would stand a chance compared to the height he saw Clint Francis Barton at.

And yet, somehow, he still had to muster the courage and manage to ask him. 

It made Pietro wonder. What, in all honesty, changed his views about the man? Was it him being saved from certain impending death? Was it the fact that Clint had watched over him in his time of need? Or had it always been there, just now surfacing when it felt the time was right?

He didn't like to think about it. All he should've been thinking about at the time was whether or not Clint could see him out of the corner of his eye.

Unfortunately, he could.

"Hello?" Clint called out, aiming the arrow behind his back and firing, feeling the tension string buzz as he let go. "Is anyone there?"

Pietro gulped and quickly searched for a place to hide. If he confronted Clint now, he wasn't sure he could keep his eyes off him. However, if he didn't confront him, he would never gain the courage to do what was needed.

He decided he'd have to wing it.

"Uh, yes, hello. It is me, no worries," the silver speedster stepped out from behind the wall. "I was just coming to talk to you, but I got... uh... distracted by the wall. It's got a very nice texture, no?"

Pietro felt like he was being forced to eat his lungs. Clint's face equally reflected the feeling, as he was confused and a little concerned, but something else hid behind it. Something smug, something Pietro didn't trust, and something he knew was headed his way.

After a pause, Clint struck with his words, knives stabbing Pietro in the gut. The exact words he had been trying to avoid.

"Were you watching me train?"

"What?!" Pietro stammered, nervous and a little scared mixing into a voice crack. He licked his lips, trying to think of an excuse. "No, of course not. I had just come to ask you a question, and you seemed busy, so I waited."

"So you were watching me."

"Not necessarily."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes, either."

Clint circled the boy, like a shark about to ambush a helpless seal. Pietro felt a shiver go down his spine. Bad news was about to come, and he didn't know if he was ready for it. He hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what he had wanted, and here he was, already a blushing, shaky mess.

He thought he was stronger than that.

"Clearly you were watching me," Clint snuffed and rolled his eyes. "Which I don't blame you. I am a sight for sore eyes," he barked a laugh, scratching his head as he tugged on a shirt. "Hey, about what happened earlier, I didn't mean to throw you off or anything-"

"No! No, don't worry about that. It is no problem. I came to ask you something," he spit out, worried that if he didn't get it out now, he never would. Clint blinked and nodded, rubbing the slight amount of stubble that peppered his chin. 

"Yeah? What's up? Ask away," he replied, voice cool and mellow, one that Pietro itched to have waking up with him, groggy and tired after a good night's sleep induced by a rough mission, calling for coffee as the light beamed down on his face from the window. That's all he wanted.

A relationship with Clint Barton sounded like he had fallen into heaven.

None of it was real.

Pietro had to constantly remind himself that his daydreams were not reality.

"Pietro?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the other's hands shake slightly. "You okay? What do ya want to ask me?"

"Right! Right, sorry. I zoned out for a moment. I heard from someone that the carnival was in town," he started, biting his tongue as he waited for some sign to continue. It came as a nod. "I've always wanted to go to one, but I was never able, and they always have had those massive stuffed animals, and I was maybe hoping to get one for Wanda, but I can't really win one of them by myself, because I've never played the games. Word got around that you knew what to do for it, so I was wondering if you would go with me to maybe get something for her? She would love it..."

"Oh," Clint said, frowning. Pietro immediately wanted to swallow his words one by one, pluck them out of the air and toss them in the trash to start new. Then, however, the archer smiled.

"That sounds like a good time. I'll definitely go with you," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Want to go later? It's only 12, since we were up there a while, so we've got the rest of the day. I'll go get my shoes, if you're free now." He waited for a confirmation that the plans would commence soon. 

"Yes! Yes! I mean, sure, let's go now!" Pietro chirped, his chest brimming with happiness. He had successfully gotten advice from Natasha (with all his fingers still intact), gotten kissed by the other, AND was just agreed to go on an outing with him. He didn't want to call it a date just yet, for he wasn't sure of Clint's sight on it all. 

"So, it's a date?"

This day just kept getting better and better.

"If that's how you want to put it," he smiled and felt a tingle in his feet before dashing off to relinquish in his success. 

He had done it.

He had really done it.

He was officially going on a date with the love of his life.

Clint Barton would certainly not be disappointed for saying yes.


	8. Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' adventures at the fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment lol

Bobo The Clown.

Clint had never hated anyone more than that stupid painted man sitting atop the dunking booth.

Usually, he could handle the insults, ignoring them as he passed by with Natasha, or Tony, or whoever he had dragged along to the carnival that year. Technically, he would've been thrown out if he didn't have someone else with him. He had been... Banned from attending without supervision. 

Not that it had had anything to do with Bobo The Clown.

Maybe.

Bobo The Clown's job was to provoke the carnival goers to spend money on trying to dunk him. Clint knew it was all a rouge. He knew that there was no reason to listen, no reason to take the time and let the kid on the stool have it. No, usually, he just stayed as far as possible from the booth to avoid his taunts from getting under his skin.

This time, however, he had gone too far.

Nobody insulted Pietro but Clint.

Nobody.

"Clint," Pietro murmured, clutching the stuffed penguin in his arms, never having intended to give it to Wanda. That thing was his, pink glitter eyes and all. "Don't do it."

"Too late," Clint snapped, handing the cashier a twenty and taking one of the ten baseballs he was given.

"Awe, is that your boyfriend back there?" Bobo taunted, ignorant to the steam practically coming out of the archer's ears. "He's kinda ugly, but it's not like you could to better."

Clint. Was. Furious.

"He's not my boyfriend," he hissed, teeth grinding. "We're just friends."

"Sure, that's what they all say. You've clearly got the hots for him. He's lucky; nobody else would take him up. How much is he payin' ya for showing him out?"

"Will you shut up?" Clint barked, gripping the ball too hard. He closed one eye, drew his arm back, and threw it as hard as he could.

Bullseye.

A ringer buzzed and the clown fell in, dirty water from previous soaks rewetting his pants and shirt. He laughed and rolled his eyes, letting the drop go over his head. 

Clint, on the other hand, was not done.

"Back for more?" he taunted, cracking his fingers and casually leaning against the back of the tank. "Tired of hanging with that mismatched disaster? I understand, I'd rather spend time with me than him any day."

Clint shut his eyes and let all the bad things he was thinking (for example; the casual murder of a carnival worker) flow out of him before letting rip the next ball. It smacked the red dot, lever dropping and seat giving way to the cold water below. 

Bobo giggled, a high pitch mockery of faint acceptance trailing from behind the bars of his enclosure. "Good job! Are you only buff in that arm? That's no way to impress your bf!" 

Pietro took a step forward, reaching a hand out to Clint, who was practically seething with rage at this point. His face was red, he was sweating, and his knuckles were white from where he gripped the ball tighter than his bow in battle. "Clint? Maybe you need to walk away."

"Are you kidding?" he half laughed, half huffed, a smirk spreading across his face as he rolled the ball around his fingers. "I'm just getting started."

As soon as the actor was back up on his stool, the ball went flying and he was sent flailing into the tank below. A crowd had begun to gather at this point, watching as the archer struck out the ever hated clown that reeked havoc through the fairgrounds. 

They all hated Bobo, too. Not as much as Clint, but enough to enjoy watching his makeup begin to drip down his face.

"Had enough?" Clint called up, waiting for the sign he could toss again. 

"Nope! I don't get fed up with other people, unless they're annoying. In this case, you ARE annoying, but since your boyfriend isn't throwing and I don't have to see his face up close, I guess I can tolerate it."

Pietro had seen Clint mad before. When Vision accidentally chucked the coffee pot out the seventh story window (how that was an accident was still beyond him), when Natasha had jokingly made him eat a tub of sour cream for a dare and he found out he was lactose intolerant, and especially when Tony tried to make him a new arrow and it exploded his room and his prized possession; the bullet that had stayed intact when it had gone through his stomach on a mission to Budapest with Natasha. 

At least, he had /thought/ he had seen Clint mad during those times. 

In reality, he had barely seen half of the archer's hidden rage.

The sign was given, and Clint let it rip. This one missed. Instead of knocking the target down and sending the clown plummeting, he had thrown the ball at the cage protecting him so hard that he had managed to lodge the baseball between two of the bars, making it stick. He cracked his neck and prepared for the next throw. He wasn't even attempting to hit the target at this point. If the ball could be wedged into the bars, he could get it to sail through them. 

"This is a bad idea," Pietro said repeatedly as Clint launched the rest of them at the cage. The audience was paying rather close attention at this point; cameras out and mouth chattering about the weird buff guy with the slim silver haired boy next to him, trying to convince him to stop.

Clint wasn't nearly done.

"Looks like you're out of baseballs, mate. Better luck getting 10 in a row next time. I guess your aim isn't as good as you claim it to be."

That was enough. It was one thing to insult him, and it was certainly another to insult Pietro, but his aim? This guy had absolutely no idea who he was talking to.

He'll show him aim.

Clint fiddled around his pocket before taking out a little pocket knife, barely bigger than his finger, and flipped it open. Pietro's eyes widened and he lunged for it, knocking his arm away just as he threw it. The blade spiraled into the air, lodging itself with a thunk right beside the clown's ear. A tiny squeak could be heard from the box above.

"Don't you ever tell me my aim is bad again, understand?!" Clint yelled, pushing away the guards that had come from nowhere. "You're a little rotten brat that doesn't have anything better to do than to waste his time traveling with the circus!" 

As soon as the words left his mouth, a cold feeling washed over him and he momentarily shut down, his heart racing, his head pounding.

The circus.

Pietro blinked and saw the sudden shift in Clint's mood, it being only a flicker before his attitude and rage came back full force. The tension in his arm had lessened, but it was back with a vengeance now. It was as though nothing had changed.

But Pietro had seen it.

He'd definitely seen it.

"You just tried to kill him!" Pietro barked, pulling him along. "You can't just do that!"

"I didn't try to kill him. You hitting my arm brought it a lot closer than intended."

"Still!"

"At least I had somewhere to grow up. You look like you came off the bottom of my shoe! And your boyfriend isn't much better," shouted the clown, a mixture between staying in his role and just getting pissed coming through his voice.

"He's not my boyfriend," Clint muttered, finally succumbing when he saw an agent watching him from afar. He must've gone out to enjoy the fair as well, and noticed the commotion. 

Fury would surely hear about it from him, if not the news.

Pietro managed to walk Clint out, get him in the car, and drive off the grounds before they got formally kicked out. Clint had his head in his hands, his actions suddenly catching up to him. 

He had made a huge mistake.

"Listen, Pietro, I'm not some crazy bastard that's always yelling and mad," he sighed, worried. Had he come off as terrible to him? Had he thrown him off and shown a side that shouldn't be surfaced in a public space? Had he ruined their time together? Clint didn't know, but he didn't have a good feeling about it.

"I know," came the simple reply.

"Yeah. But... I'm sorry, I really am," he felt his voice crack. It wasn't because he was about to cry, but it was because he was embarrassed and upset and he had the feeling he could crush 20 elephants with his bare hands.

"It's fine."

"You sure? I ruined our time together."

"No, you didn't. Your anger was reasonable. That man was getting to me as well. If you hadn't acted, I would've been blinded with fury just as deeply as you. You kind of... Distracted me? From doing anything dumb."

"So I did do something dumb?"

"Yes."

"But you're not mad."

"Yes."

"Okay," Clint muttered. "I didn't mean it, honest."

"I know. Your apology was accepted the minute we left. And I know why you did it, because I would've done the same thing if I were in your situation." 

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not dumb. I paid attention. You wouldn't get mad at the jabs he threw at you. Nah, you would get mad at the ones he tossed at me. I understand that feeling. Someone makes fun of me? No problem. Someone makes fun of Wanda? I'm probably lighting their hair of fire. It's just one of those things," Pietro replied, licking his lips. "But I do have to ask, why the circus comment? I can't really see 'lives with a circus' as a big insult."

"Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't. It wasn't anything, just leave it. Sorry again," Clint said, voice stoic, his manor changing from angry to calm, but something brewed underneath, a storm not ready to make landfall.

Something about the look in Clint's eye made Pietro feel like the archer didn't trust him.

Great.

"If it makes you feel any better, the whole time you were foaming at the mouth, you've had a little dolphin on your cheek."

"What?"

"When you fell asleep on the bench for about ten minutes. I said I had to go to the bathroom, and you passed out. I had a makeup artist come paint a little dolphin on your face. It's quite cute, if I do say so myself. I'm surprised the clown guy didn't make a comment about it," Pietro saw Clint's chest rise as he tried not to laugh. 

"That's crazy! Pietro!" he snapped, punching him gently on the arm, a faint puff of air hiding a happy chirp that was building in his throat. He looked in the mirror; sure enough, a happy little mammal sat on his cheek in various blues and grays. "I'll get you back for this."

"No you won't," Pietro laughed, feeling the tension in the car lift. Clint let out the smallest laugh, almost akin to a giggle, and Pietro's face lit up. "See? There you go, all smiling again. I like that look. It makes it seem like you aren't thinking of ways to murder me in my sleep."

"Maybe I am."

"I doubt it. I'm too irresistible."

Clint felt his smile widen as he shook his head. "No, definitely not true," he laughed as they parked at the tower and walked inside together. Tony spotted them from afar, jeering something about Pietro's little toy, but the boy ignored him and went off to his room, Clint moving off to the kitchen.

Pietro threw his animal on the bed and thought about how to think about how to get why Clint didn't like the circus so much. He loved the fair, what was the difference? It had to be something about his past. Something deep, something he didn't want anyone to know, asides from the ones he trusted the most. He was too scared to ask Natasha, so who else would know that information?

Then, it hit him.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was the new computer software that Tony had installed after J.A.R.V.I.S. had been installed into Vision. 

Pietro just hoped he knew how to use it.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" he called into the air, his room lighting up with a blue tinge as a hologram of the tower appeared.

"Yes sir?" the robot responded.

"I need to do some research. Can you help me out?"

"Certainly, sir." 

"Perfect."


	9. Man Behind the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially unecessary build up angst because that's what I live for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment what you thought!!

Pietro had never felt so bad for someone else in his life.

He had to get the program to read it all to him, as he was illiterate, and everything he heard was heart breaking.

Clint had grown up poor, an abusive alcoholic father always beating him and his brother, Barney. His mother died at his pop's hands, and the brothers ran away together, finding a circus to live with. That's where the archer was trained, his marksmenship growing as he and Barney barely scraped by on what they were offered. Apparently, this was one of the less appealing parts on Barton's life. At least his shooting made up for his hearing.

"Wait, F. R. I. D. A. Y., repeat that last statement?"

"Which one, boss?"

"I heard hearing aid."

"Ah, yes sir. As his file reads, Clint Barton has an implanted hearing aid, made by Tony Stark to be invisible, but the size of the piece sometimes causes malfunctions, which results in a periodic shut off. This hearing impediment developed when-"

Pietro tuned her out, his mind already racing.

How many times had he gotten mad at Clint for thinking he was ignoring him?

Oh no.

"Clint's deaf?" he stammered out, a strong sense of guilt rushing through him. 

"Yes sir. Among other flaws, Clint Barton struggles with his identity, and his membership on the team."

"I'm sorry?"

"Repeat: Clint Barton struggles with his identity, and his membership on the team."

"Elaborate."

"Clint Barton has privately expressed to Natasha Romanov that he does not feel like he is needed on the group, even though he has stated that he does to the others. He says that due to the fact he does not have a super special power and only has a common skill, he feels as though he is not needed to make the team work. These are extremely private thoughts, and should not be brought up in front of the other members."

Pietro swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat. He felt it lodge in his chest, his heart sinking down to the pit of his stomach.

He had to find Clint.

Before he dashed out, he had another thought. Clint had never told him any of these things, and something about that fact made him frown. He wasn't... trusted enough to know those things. Not that he had a right to be mad about that. It wasn't his decision to state which thoughts Clint shared and which ones he didn't. 

Eh, who was he kidding.

Pietro had to talk to him about it.

He wasn't going to let Clint keep thinking that about himself.

Plus he had to apologize for all the times he had gotten pissed at him for not hearing.

Pietro bid ado to F. R. I. D. A. Y. and ran down the hall to the dining room, where he found Clint talking with Thor. Forgetting all social boundaries and the situation he was putting himself into, Pietro wrapped Clint into a tight hug before the man could even get out a hello.

"Pietro? Hey, it's nice to see you too, but...? What's this all about?"

"I am so sorry."

"It's fine?" Clint replied, confused. He gave the other an awkward hug back.

"I didn't mean anything bad, I swear." 

"What?" Now he was getting concerned, the feeling scratching his voice. 

"I didn't know about your hearing. All those times I've yelled at you for not listening, it was all my fault and I-"

"Whoa, whoa slow down," Clint laughed, confused. When had Pietro heard about that? He wasn't phased by it, just surprised. 

After the initial shock, anger set in as he listened to the kid talk.

"And, and all those things you went through as a kid, and what you think about yourself and the team-"

"Where did you hear that?" he whispered, debating on whether or not he was to be furious or enraged. Either way, it would end bad for the one on the receiving end.

Pietro was confused at the tone of Clint's voice. It was dangerous, and even Thor had gotten the hint and had walked out of the room. Why was he mad? He was just trying to show that he was there for him.

Clint bit his tongue, waiting for a reply. Anger swelled in his stomach. Pietro had no right knowing those things, and the only person he could blame for it was Nat.

"F. R. I. D. A. Y. told me."

Clint's face fell immediately. Of course, the program that replaced J. A. R. V. I. S. had all the information about them. The only way Pietro would've gotten anything from her, however, was if he had asked. Something had to have provoked him into seeking this info.

Then he realized.

His comment about the circus from the other day.

"Listen, Pietro," his voice was dangerously low, too calm and too timid to be proper for this time. "I need you to forget about everything you learned today. None of it should compromise what you think about me or anyone else on the team."

"I can't! I want to help you," the younger snapped, now getting upset as well. Why wouldn't Clint just accept what he was trying to do? Why wouldn't Clint just TRUST him? "I just wanted answers. Why do you feel that way about yourself?"

"You're not a shrink, kiddo. I don't have to tell you anything, and you don't need to go prying through my personal life. I'm gonna have Tony clear my files off of his programs so no one has to worry anymore. Just go to sleep. It's late."

"What's with you? Why can't you trust me? Why do you not feel needed on this team? Clearly you are needed, and if you weren't, then neither would Nat. Both of you are still here, so what is your deal?"

"You don't get it, do you?" he whispered, getting that break in his throat that most get when they're about to cry. 

If anything, he wasn't going to cry in front of Pietro if it was the last thing he did.

Not including when the other had been in life or death situations.

Those times didn't count anyways.

"What am I not getting?"

"You're special. You've got that power, that... gift. You know what makes me special?" A pause. "The fact that I never miss."

Pietro tilted his head, a little lost. His eyes reflected sadness. Did Clint really think that the suffering he went through to get his power was a gift? Was he willing to subject himself to such punishment to reach that?

"I never miss, Piet. That's what differentiates me and any other archer on earth. If I miss, I'm just like them. Nothing special. So I don't. That's the only thing keeping me on this team. That's the only use I am to the Avengers Initiative."

As he spoke, Clint felt himself unravel, his head pounding with a headache as the truth was knocked out of him. He could feel his face reflecting his thoughts, and it made him scowl even more. The last thing he wanted was for Pietro to be upset with him, or to be worried about him.

"Clint, you are incredibly important," Pietro muttered, stepping forward and placing a hand on the other's rough cheek. It trailed down his face, wiping a stray tear that Clint pretended hadn't fallen. "Clint, without you, I wouldn't have survived. Without you, I would've died a long time ago. Without you, nothing would've been possible. Beating Ultron, converting me and Wanda, it was all because you were a part of the team."

"You don't know what I did. You don't know how many agents I killed when I was with Loki."

"None of that was your fault."

"I couldn't fight it. I wasn't strong enough."

"You're beating yourself up over something you can't help. And you know what?" Pietro was getting worked up now, his accent thickening. "Without you, I wouldn't be standing here, feeling my heart being tossed around because I can't decide whether I want to kiss you or punch you in the face. I can't figure out what it is, but something about you drives me NUTS and I want it gone! I want it out of my chest! That pink stuffed animal? I never gave it to Wanda, I sleep with it because it's better than sleeping without you. That sweater you lost two weeks ago? I have it, and I wear it whenever you're not around. I looked all that stuff up about you because I wanted you to trust me, and I wanted to get to know you better because you're so thick headed that you won't share anything with me. I'm just sick, okay? I don't want to feel this way but I do, I do and I'm stupid and you're really hot and I need to go!" He shouted the last part, then ran away, as fast as he could, leaving Clint alone in the dining room.

Clint could only mutter the other's name before sinking into a chair with his face in his hands.

"You've really done it this time, Barton. You really have."


	10. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy chapter this is good BE READY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment holy wow

"I've honestly had it with those two."

Wanda and Natasha were sitting in the living room, lounging on the couch and sipping tea. They had started talking about the usual, missions and training taking up most of their time, but they had soon switched to the topic of two of their teammates, friends, and brothers (in Wanda's case). 

The two idiots that couldn't seem to get out their feelings for each other.

"It's ridiculous, honestly. Just the other day, Pietro had run to me and started blubbering about how he had accidentally confessed to Clint," Wanda said, taking a swig and pausing. "You would think that would help their situation, but it didn't help him at all."

"Same with Clint, except he likes to bottle everything up. I found him moping in the dining room. He wouldn't say why, but I could just tell. He's such a baby! He tries so hard to keep his feelings under wrap and it literally destroys him on the inside."

"Yes, I totally understand. Pietro is so stubborn, he barely could ask him out just a few days ago. I had to force him to even go to YOU for help."

"Poor thing was shaking when he talked to me. I felt so bad. Maybe I can help Clint get into it too? He's about as romantic as a toenail."

"Pietro is a huge flirt, but he doesn't know what he's doing half the time. I just can't see him being like this much longer. There has to be a way to get them together."

Natasha sighed and scratched her head. Suddenly, it came to her.

"Doesn't Pietro have like... fans?"

"What do you mean?"

"Fans. People that like him. He's been on tv before, and a lot of people find him rather attractive. Now, I'm not saying this is a good idea, or an idea that will work, but I think we should get some of those fans with Pietro and have Clint around when they come."

"What benefit will this have?"

"Did Pietro tell you about the fair? Clint became super protective of him, and his actual being showed through. If Clint acted like that then, we can assume that he is a little jealous. Maybe we can get Pietro to see that? That Clint does like him in that sense, enough to come over and interfere with others that want him? Does that make sense?"

"Crystal."

Natasha and Wanda smiled, already calling Tony on the tower's intercom system. He replied, mumbling something about interrupting his bath.

"Yes, ladies? What can I do for you?"

"Can you find some of Pietro's fan members and bring them downtown to the shopping center on 3rd?"

"Sure, what for?"

"You'll see."

~~~

Oh no.

Control yourself, Barton.

Clint was standing in the corner of a shop, watching as girls fawned and talked to an easy-going Pietro. He was leaning against the window, hair tousled to perfection, eyes gleaming in the shop lights. His cheeks were chiseled, as though Michelangelo had taken a chisel and shaped them himself. His physique was flawless; Clint could just make out his well defined chest and abs through his too tight shirt. 

Clint shook his head and rubbed his eyes, turning away and pretending to browse the ties. He couldn't help but feel a small pinch in his stomach, as though the people around Pietro were parasites, and he needed to swoop in and protect him. 

That's ridiculous, Barton.

They're not hurting him.

They're hurting you though.

Pietro let out a laugh, a tinkle that rang through Clint's head like a siren. He frowned and threw a glance over to the brat, his heart pounding and his head swimming. 

One of the girls was way too close for comfort, her hand resting on his shoulder, her side pressed casually next to his. Pietro didn't seem to notice, as he was busy paying attention to at least four others just like her. Clint twitched and shifted his weight, his fingers itching to go over and slide his hand onto Pietro's side, protective and claiming. 

He wanted it so bad, to tell the girls "Sorry! Too bad I beat you too him. He's mine, bye." But he couldn't. They were partners, friends, definitely not anything more.

And yet, what was stopping them from being that extra step?

The archer thought back to the other day, the rush of Pietro's words, the quick confession rambling into the air, Clint absorbing it all in a frenzy to understand. He knew Pietro liked him. He knew it very well. But something about the way it all came out made it feel like Pietro never intended to act upon any of that. They had only come to the mall to help Pietro find a suit for an outing he was invited to by S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint had the fashion sense of a couch, so he was surprised to have been asked. 

Not that Pietro hadn't just wanted to spend time with him.

No, not at all.

Clint came up with every excuse he could to deter him from believing that Pietro and him could ever be together. Absurd reasonings would fill his head, and all signs and tries Pietro threw his way to convince him that he wanted exactly what Clint did, he would act too dense and let it bounce off of him. He put off the vibe that he simply did not want it.

What a lie.

Another thing Clint refused to notice were the looks Pietro kept shooting his way. They stuck in his back, silver knives biting his spine as he continued to pretend that Pietro wasn't blowing him off to hang with his fans. 

Pietro, on the other hand, was desperately trying to get the other to come over. All he wanted was for him to saunter up and take his hand, place a kiss on his cheek, do SOMETHING to show that he was at least a little bit miffed by the girls hanging around him. Clint was so thick that he would never get what he wanted from him.

He would have to take matters into his own hands.

"Hey, Clint!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth and cutting off one of the ladies mid sentence. "Clint, come here! Come be social for a bit."

Clint felt his stomach churn when he heard his name being called. "I'm okay," he said back, turning away. 

Pietro wasn't going to take no for an answer. 

"Ah, don't be such a sourpuss, babe!" he started walking over. Clint felt panic boiling in his veins. Babe? He froze. Suddenly, Pietro was there, turning him around and cutting off anything he was about to say with a long kiss.

Oh my god.

He was melting.

As much as he wanted to fight it, he couldn't. Clint tangled his hands in Pietro's hair. It was soft and smelled rather nice, and his lips were ever so sweet. The marksman could feel his knees shaking, and he gasped a little when the other pulled away. He had to hold back his urge to go for more.

All the girls collectively squealed.

"You two are so cute!"

"How long have you been dating?"

"I hope you guys last forever!"

The compliments and questions spiraled in way faster than Clint could handle, but he felt the ease and comfort of Pietro's hand on the small of his back. Clint had no idea that him, Natasha, and Wanda had set all this up. Pietro had just needed the justification that Clint and him were on the same page.

This was it.

"Listen, ladies, my boyfriend and I have to get going, so if you don't mind us," Pietro gently pushed Clint forward as they walked out, his smooth hand grasping the rough, bow-calloused one of the other.

Soon enough, they were outside.

Clint exploded.

"What the hell was that? What the actual hell, Pietro. Why? What came over you, wha-"

Clint was cut off again by another kiss, deep and passionate, one that made his stomach turn and his heart shake his chest. He couldn't help but repeat earlier's sequence, his hands finding their way and his mouth moving in time with the other's. This was all he had ever wanted.

Oh god, it was so nice.

"Admit it."

"What?" Clint muttered, blinking away the haze and coming down from his high. "Admit what?"

"That you like me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?"

Clint attempted to speak, his voice low and gravelly. He tried again. "Okay, fine! Whatever! Maybe I do, so what?"

"You are so naïve, you know that?"

"No."

"I literally told you yesterday that I liked you a LOT, maybe even loved you and you didn't take today as a sign? At all? It's clear that you like me too, so why can't we just... I don't know. Date? Be boyfriends? God, that sounds so weird, but do you get my point? We can't avoid this forever."

"We can if we try."

"I don't want to."

"I don't either," Clint signed and looked at the ground. "Fine, whatever. We're acting like we're in middle school. We're adults, so... Let's just get it over with. Pietro Maximoff, will you be my boyfriend?"

The runner's face broke into a smile and he hugged Clint, pressing his face into the other's shoulder. He tried to hold back tears. "Of course! Of course I will be, you dummy."

"Can we keep it a little... secret though? I don't want many people knowing right away. Is that... okay?"

"Whatever you want, babe."

"Cool, in that case. Do you want to carry me home?"

Pietro paused. "Didn't you drive?"

"Wanda and Nat took it out to lunch. Why did they come anyways?"

"Um..." Pietro muttered, scratching his head. Clint caught on really fast, understanding why Pietro had been so cocky, so forward. 

"This was a set up. Not a bad one, but it was, wasn't it?"

"Gotta go!" 

Clint blinked, and he was standing alone in the downtown Metro area.

"Damn it, Pietro."

Clint began his long walk home.

It was worth it, he supposed.

Yeah, definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you ready to comment now


	11. Excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! A GOOD ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment please PLEASE

"So much for keeping it a secret."

Clint rubbed his face as he watched the Avenger's official twitter feed blow up with tweets linked to him and Pietro being together. Message after message came zooming in, some in Sokovian, but most in English. Clint read each one out loud to the other, cringing at a couple. 

"How did this get out?" Pietro asked, scratching his head. "Did you tell them?"

"Why would I tell them? I was the one who wanted to keep it a secret. If anything, there's only one person who I know could have done this..."

"Tony."

They both spat the name in unison as Pietro scooped Clint up and they dashed to the billionaire's room. That's how they got around now, Clint holding on to Pietro like a big, muscular baby. The other didn't mind. It was much faster that way, and he didn't have to wait for Clint to huff up the steps. 

"Tony!" Clint burst into the room right as Stark stepped out of the bathroom. Steam filled the room, and a towel was laying on the floor. A small puddle of water pooled at his feet.

Tony was naked.

Clint screamed.

"Whoa! Ever heard of knocking?!" Tony yelled and grabbed the towel, wrapping it around his waist. "I'm covered," he snapped, rolling his eyes. "What can I do for you two lovebirds?"

"We wanted to keep it a secret, Stark. How you found out, I don't know, but it wasn't your business to tell everyone," the archer bit out. "You can't just do that."

"Sure I can. I can do whatever I want, bird boy, that's how it works. I'm Iron Man, after all. But how I found out was when I checked my security cameras and saw you two kiss each other goodnight yesterday. Any idiot could see that you two were in looooove," he drawled. "I just thought Pietro's "fans" should know about it."

"We still never gave you permission to out us like that."

"Listen, I get it. You're mad. I'll delete the post, but the knowledge won't go away. People know now. Big deal. Saves you the trouble, honestly. Asides from that, you two have a date in... 4 hours. Go get ready."

"What?" Pietro muttered, stepping forward from behind Clint. "We never planned a date."

"Exactly. I did. You two, moonlight sonatas playing, small portions for big prices, a little ballroom, it'll be great. I got you two reservations for the Military Ball down in Times Square. It'll be great, I promise. You two, however, need to suit up and look pretty. Have fun!" Tony chirped and disappeared behind the bathroom door. Clint stopped himself from throwing his weight against it to get in. He was too afraid that Tony would be nude again. He shuddered.

Never did he want to see so much of Stark again.

"So, um..." Pietro said, suddenly nervous. A date? Unplanned? It had taken him 3 days to perfect the other one, and it had still gone a little off the rails. This was just so sudden.

Not that he was complaining or anything. Any chance to see Clint in a suit was a chance he wasn't going to pass up.

"I'm going to go shower as well," Clint swallowed, shuffling out the door after giving Pietro a quick kiss on the cheek. Pietro nodded and left soon after.

He had to find Wanda. 

While the runner searched for his sister, Clint hustled to exactly where he knew Natasha would be. She was relaxing in a hammock that had been set up between a balcony and the windows of the tower. Essentially, it gave the illusion that she was floating above and away from the tower. 

Clint and her had spent many a day just sleeping in that hammock, after missions, tournaments, tests. It was their safe spot, almost like a fortress that could snap any moment, and their control and trust was what held it together.

Natasha glanced up and swung out, landing gently on the marble and walking back inside. Clint leaned against the wall as she straightened out and fixed herself.

"Am I going to have to guess what you want?"

"Go for it."

"You want me to... Help you find a suit and sharpen up for your surprise date with Pietro, which Tony set you up for by putting your relationship on twitter and that made you mad so he knew you would come find him."

"Spot on. You amaze me."

"I was already informed. A suit? Easy. Come on."

Clint was suddenly being dragged down the hall and thrown into a clean room full of mirrors, and the fashion sequence commenced.

Meanwhile, Pietro was a bubbling mess as Wanda lounged carelessly on the bed, mentally picking through the clothes they had available and choosing which would go best with her brother's silver hair and flashing eyes. 

"I'm going to ruin it. I just know it. I can't dance, Wanda! I don't know how to eat properly! Why do they have so many forks? They all work just the same! Clint is going to think I'm a BARBARIAN, a... a savage! This will never wor-"

He was cut off by a pocket square being stuffed into his mouth. Wanda sighed and stood up, plucking a suit from the closet and tossing it to him.

"Put it on," she commanded, tapping her foot. "Let's go. You've got 2 hours."

Pietro slipped into it and immediately felt awkward as the clothes were ripped off him by his sister's powers and new ones replaced them. This went on for about ten minutes, Wanda picking and choosing, Pietro standing helplessly as clothes were tossed about the room in a mess of blues and blacks. She finally settled, however, on a three piece black tie set, with a cream bow around his neck and sparkling shoes. He took one look at himself and blinked. He had... Changed. The suit hugged his body, the definition in his arms apparent, his legs perfectly squared away. The bow tie added leverage to his chest, and his hair had been brushed back out of his eyes. Somehow, Wanda had managed to shave his stubble, and he was clean cut and, quite simply, handsome. 

"Thank you so much!" Pietro laughed and hugged his sister. "You're my favorite, you know that?"

"Yes, of course," she smiled and pushed him out the door. "Now go talk to Tony. Make sure you're all dolled up and perfect. I might have missed something."

Pietro walked away grinning, his new threads dazzling, and he gained several compliments from some of the agents working with the technology in Stark's home for the time being.

Clint shuffled uncomfortably in his clothes, the rustle of expensive fabric whistling in his ears. He was never quite comfortable in suits; they felt like fabric cages, too much like bonds. He itched his head, shifted his weight, anything to feel a little better.

Natasha sighed and, before she let him see, pinned one of the silver arrow earrings that he had gotten for her a long while ago to his lapel. He turned around and he couldn't help but smile.

He looked fantastic, a light navy blue garnished with a notched lapel, and a quaint tie rested snugly on his chest. 

He wasn't prepared to see how Pietro looked.

He wasn't sure how many times in his life he could have his breath stolen when he looked at him.

"You're ready, kiddo," Natasha sprayed a dash of cologne (that made Clint think of George Clooney) across his front and gently pushed him out the door. "You have your phone?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Text me if you need me."

"Will do."

He began walking out the door, gently kissing Natasha on the cheek. It was like a good luck charm; he didn't do anything or go off on a mission without pecking his best friend. Natasha didn't mind, although the first time he had done it he had almost gotten smacked into Australia. 

"Behave yourself, okay?" Natasha called as Clint rounded the corner and waved. 

Already, the night was going wrong.

Clint collided with Pietro, the force knocking both of them to the floor. The archer scrambled up and helped the other up before feeling his face flame into the color of Nat's hair. 

Pietro. Looked. Amazing.

Clint swallowed heavily and tried for words, but nothing would come out. Pietro frowned, afraid Clint had hurt himself.

"Clint? Are you alright...?"

Clint stuttered and said something that sounded like "elephant." He cleared his throat and began again. "You look fantastic," he huffed, drinking in every fold and every curve that was accented effortlessly. 

"You as well," Pietro laughed, scratching his head. He nonchalantly entwined his fingers with the other's and tugged to show that he wanted to go. Clint tripped over his own feet, eyes still fixed on the other.

It was incredible, how one of the best assassins in the world could be turned into a blundering mess just by a simple face.

Except it was more than simple.

It was exquisite.

Clint would never forget it.

And tonight would be the night he would burn it forever into his memory.

Tonight was the night that he came to a conclusion. That conclusion was that this was much more than a crush. This was much more than anything he was used to.

Tonight was the night that he realized he was in love with Pietro Maximoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you ready to comment now


	12. Crowds Amiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boy do I love emotional wreckage :)))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please!!! It makes me really happy

"Have I already said you look amazing?" Clint sputtered out as he drove down the busy New York streets. Pietro smiled and glanced at himself in the side mirror. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Clint wasn't lying. He didn't look half bad at all.

"Yes, you have. Thank you," he replied, watching the city lights pass by. They sparkled in his eyes, gleaming off of them and setting them ablaze with fire. 

Every time Pietro turned to Clint, the archer had a hard time focusing on the road and not his face.

They pulled up to the ball, a valet taking the car as they walked up the stairs. Pietro felt a sudden tug on his hand when he noticed Clint had stopped walking.

Something was wrong. He could sense it. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing up, the night was too cold and his hand was too sweaty in Pietro's. It took him a minute to realize the other was trying to snap him out of his freeze. He was standing as frigid as a pole in the middle of the steps, brown eyes scanning the problem area. 

"What's wrong?" Pietro signed, remembering the basic sign language he had picked up from watching Clint and Natasha talk. The other just shook his head and began climbing again, but it was clear he was still on edge, his walk too stiff and his aura too tense. 

They walked inside, and Clint was immediately at home. A lot of people believed that he was a solitary being, one of quiet and comfort, of small spaces and silent nights. Although all true, he also loved big events. It was a place where he could be invisible, a mergence with the crowd and a shadow hidden amongst the masses. Here, he had no pressure of being the only person who never missed. Here, he was just another person. 

Here, he was just Clint Barton.

Pietro relaxed too, noting that Clint had dropped his guard a tad. He was visibly at ease, and that made him the same. If Clint was happy, he was happy. 

"Biscuits, gentlemen?" A waiter passed and offered them snacks and a glass of champagne each. They accepted, nibbling and standing by a tall pole that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, intricate carvings shooting their way through the marble. Clint leaned against it, sipping his drink and feeling the bubbles tickle his nose. 

"This is..." he started, thinking of how to finish. "Good. This is good."

"I agree," the other stated, watching as couples drifted about the room in elegant gowns and fancy suits. "It's awfully nice, being here with yo-" He turned back to face Clint, but he was gone.

Pietro frowned, blinking a couple times to make sure he was really gone. Where had he vanished to so fast? He searched the crowd, wine and cutlery shimmering against the pale cream light of the chandeliers. 

Clint had, quite simply, disappeared.

Pietro ran around the place, looking for his boyfriend, before he finally spotted him standing by a potted plant as he poured a cup of champagne into it. He ran over, snatching the glass and spinning to face the other. 

"What are you doing?" Pietro questioned, not necessarily angry, but definitely concerned.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Clint gave him that ever so charming smile and Pietro's fears almost instantly melted away. "Want to dance?"

"Uh," was all the runner could utter before he was swept off his feet and spun to the dance floor. He was soon wrapped in a tango with Clint, his feet gliding across the wooden floor. It was wonderful, the light shining off of his brown eyes, his face the picture of charisma. It felt as though Pietro was being swept away by gentle ocean waves, and Clint was the force that kept him afloat. 

They spun momentarily before Pietro was suddenly dipped by Clint. He sighed; what a nice way to end the dance. Then, he was suddenly falling, his anchor dropping him like a rock to the sea floor.

"What the hell, Clint?" he cried, getting up and dusting off. The other had been acting so weird, ever since they had gotten there. Freezing up outside, the plant champagne incident, and now this. What was wrong with him? "What is up with you? You're acting so strange, I don't understand-"

Clint cut him off as he grabbed his hand sharply and pressed. Pietro felt woozy, like he had been drugged, the pressure point effectively cutting blood flow upward and clotting his mind. He was vaguely aware of his feet dragging along the floor as Clint set him gently on the floor in the corner before a barrage of bullets rained down across the space. Pietro watched as several marked exactly where Clint and him had been standing only seconds before.

"Listen," the archer bent down on one knee and whispered softly to his boyfriend. "The champagne was poisoned. I noticed when it didn't fizz, and I poured a little on my hand." He lifted up his palm to show a clear burn mark. "I switched our drinks out while you were distracted. I wanted to make sure they were poisoned." A bullet marked a little too close to Clint's foot for Pietro's comfort. Clint kept talking. "So I dumped it into the plant. It killed the plant. Outside, I felt like we were being watched, and I spotted several men up on the roof, about 8 or 9 of them. I dipped you before a bullet smacked you in your head. That was their sniper line, he'll be killed later for failing. They're not patient fellows. I need you to stay here and not move. I don't want you getting hurt."

As Pietro's mind started circulating again, Clint dashed away and out the oak doors. He came back with his bow, which had clearly been stashed before he got there by another agent. He had a system; anywhere he went, his bow went. He just couldn't carry it in his pocket, so he had agents set it up ahead of time in case of emergency. 

More bullets whizzed by and Clint shot at the invisible people, grunts and moans proving marked targets. Every so often, Clint would blink, really hard, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.

Pietro wanted to throw up.

He had never noticed how slow the archer was. He moved at a desperately minimal pace, as though his body was going through sludge. Every shot seemed to drift through water before hitting its spot. 

Clint was so vulnerable. At any moment, he would be hit, him not being able to get out of the way in time. Pietro couldn't just sit here, he had to get up, to shield him, to push wads of metal out of the way before they shattered his partner. He stood, his brain and blood working again, and he dashed into action. Just as he reached Clint, his back turned to a hidden sniper in the high corner of the ceiling, his leg shattered under the impact of a bullet that seared straight through it.

If Pietro hadn't been there, Clint would have been hit in his thigh, rendering it useless. Clint's agency days would have been over. 

Clint was so slow.

Slow.

Everything was slow now. The thud of an arrow smacking the person who took the runner down, the yells and cries of the attendees of the ball, the barks and yelps of Clint, who was running outside with him in his arms. He blacked out for a moment, and then came back when he was in the infirmary, his leg swollen and tied up, and Clint at his side.

"Slow."

Clint looked up. That had been the first word Pietro had spoken since he had woken up two hours ago. He felt his chest swell, tears almost leaking from his eyes. 

Then, gratitude and happiness was replaced with anger.

Deep, burning anger.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What have I said about taking bullets for me? Don't ever do it again, understand? I'll... I'll lose my shit! You scared the ever loving hell out of me, Pietro, I should've taken that bullet. I wanted you safe this time. I wanted to make sure I could protect you. Just let me be your Prince Charming or whatever you want to call it for once, okay?"

"You're slow."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're slow. You would've been hit if I hadn't gotten up. I didn't think the shell would go straight through me, though. I'm sorry, but I had to. You're... So slow. Slow. I watch you move, and it's like you aren't even aware of your surroundings, like you can't stop the world and adjust it, and I hate it so much, I can't just sit there and watch you peril!"

Clint sighed and rubbed his face as Steve walked in with some files. "We recovered what caused it. A very high up terrorist leader found out that you two would be at the ball, someone from Hydra that knew Pietro well. We couldn't get readings on him, but he had sent assassins to kill you two in one swoop. Tony had no idea, and neither did anyone else. This isn't your fault, and it's no one else's. I hope you get better soon," Steve nodded at Pietro and walked away, leaving Clint the cup of water he had brought him. 

A moment of silence passed, thick, tense, slow. Then, a small giggle. It rumbled through Pietro's chest, his voice giddy, before it broke out into a laugh, which soon had Clint barking out as well. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until they had to calm down or else they couldn't breathe. The look they gave each other was so sick with love that they could feel their hearts beating in sync.

Maybe what happened at the ball had happened for a reason. It had opened up a better understanding for each other, and a deeper connection was established. Clint stood up and gently leaned over, his stubble brushing Pietro's cheek gently. Pietro reached a hand up and pulled him in, a soft and warm kiss causing heat to spread through both of them.

The kiss was slow.

The kiss was perfect.

"You're slow, old man. You have to start keeping up."

"I'll keep up when you respect your elders," Clint chuckled and silenced any more remarks from Pietro with another kiss.

Clint may not have been able to save Pietro's leg, but he could damn well save his heart. 

That's what avengers did, right?

Save things.

Or avenge them. Whichever was more necessary.

Clint would do both to keep Pietro happy. Whatever it took, he was there for it.

Even if it cost him his life.

Clint smiled gently at the other, his lips stretching into a grin that was saved specifically for that special someone. He could feel the words itching at the back of his throat, but he just wasn't sure.

He didn't think he could say it.

He was right.

"I have to go with Natasha for a little bit, do you think you'll be okay without me?"

Coward.

"I'm a big boy, I can handle myself," Pietro gently pushed him and let Clint leave. On his tongue were three simple words, and he ever so wanted for Clint to say them back.

Coward.

They were both slow, in a way. Too slow, perhaps.

Too slow to say I love you in time.

Pietro slipped up, but he didn't know it yet.

Pietro didn't know that he had missed his first and last chance to say I love you.

Pietro didn't know that this would be one of his last goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you commented yet


	13. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment on your shattered heart would be A+

Sirens.

All he could hear were sirens.

Clint ran around the tower, shoving people out of the way as he raced to the infirmary. He couldn't leave, not without at least reassuring Pietro that he'd be fine, he'd come back, blah blah blah.

The only problem was, he didn't know if he believed that.

He didn't know if he believed that on any mission.

Pietro sat helpless and vulnerable in bed, his leg propped up. Although the experimentation done on him had given him an extremely quick healing time, he wasn't quite ready to be back on his feet. He groaned, trying to inch his leg out of the cuff that held it in the air. 

He couldn't let Clint go alone.

Slow.

Suddenly Clint was there, in the doorway, panting and slightly out of breath as he dashed in and kissed the runner, hard, with every last ounce of energy he had spared. Pietro pulled away, stunned yet enamored. 

"I'll be back, I promise. We've got a surprise spring up mission in New Jersey. Apparently Hydra found out that we had restationed the Avenger's base and they're planning on attack, so we're going to take them out first. No sweat, alright? Easy. I'll be back, I promise."

Pietro felt fear wash over him as he grabbed at Clint's jacket when he turned away. "You can't go, you'll get hurt."

"They need me," Clint said, desperate to go but regretting having to. Pietro had such a sad look on his face, puppy eyes killer. It was clear he was thinking of ways to get the archer to stay, to comfort him, to treat him well and to give him kisses when necessary, not to go risk his life on some battlefield. He thought of everything he could, but never did Clint expect what Pietro was about to say.

"They don't need you. You're going to miss at some point, so what's the use?"

Clint felt his heart burn a hole in his chest. His mind blanked out everything else Pietro was saying, his lips moving too fast too read, his heart beating too fast to feel. With a cold stare, he muttered "Turn your comm on in case you need me," snatched his shirt away, and dashed out the door.

Sometimes, Pietro's mouth worked faster than his brain did.

"Clint, please," he said into the earpiece he had now shoved in. "I'm so sorry, you know that's not what I meant."

"Sure," Clint snapped, turning up the volume all the way so it was clearer what the other's crisp voice sounded like. It was so nice, so smooth, and Clint almost didn't want to be mad at it. How could he be? Pietro was the equivalence of an angel, if such a thing existed. But he knew he had to keep up this grudge. What Pietro had said hurt, and it hurt a lot. He had used his deepest insecurity against him for personal gain, and Clint was simply not okay with that. No matter how many times the runner had eaten his food, no matter how many times he had stolen his arrows during practice, he still loved the kid, and he could never be mad at him.

Or, at least he thought he couldn't be.

Apparently, he had proven himself wrong.

"I'm serious, Clint. It was selfish of me to say that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

Clint fought the heavy urge to shut his comm down, to throw it off the plane, and watch the jet engines burn it to a crisp. He couldn't bring himself to it though. What if something happened to Pietro while he was gone, and he wasn't at least there for emotional support and comfort? He shook his head and flicked his bow open, the snap and shudder of it in his hands making him feel more calm, more in control.

Back at base, Pietro was almost in hysterics. He had just sent his boyfriend to die on a field he didn't know the location of by saying terribly harsh words and driving him away. It was clear that Clint was pissed, he had every right to be. But the guilt was eating away at Pietro's insides, and he couldn't stomach that Clint might get hurt while knowing what he had said. 

He fought the urge not to sob into the mic.

"Clint? Please, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his breath ragged. Why was he so torn up? Of course Clint would come back, he always did. Maybe a little hurt, but that was okay. He would just have to heal right next to Pietro, all comfy and cozy together. That very thought made him feel like he was drowning. 

"Forget about it, okay? Don't sweat it," Clint huffed as the plane landed soon after. With the new advanced technology that Stark designed into the systems, they could move much faster now. "Natasha and I are here."

Pietro felt a shudder rack through his body. This was it. What if Clint didn't make it out? What if Natasha didn't make it out? What if they both didn't? He couldn't help the thoughts rushing in.

Then, he thought up the worst.

What if they took Clint in and experimented on him?

Pietro was suddenly wailing, and Clint's ears throbbed. "What? What's wrong? Is everything okay?" The tough guy brocade from earlier was instantly dropped and a smooth, comforting tone shifted into gear. "Baby? What's wrong?"

"Don't let them get you, Clint, please. Please."

"I won't. I never miss, after all."

Pietro nodded and smiled, even though no one could see him. He just wanted, desperately so, for Clint to come out okay. 

If any day was a slow day, he prayed this wasn't it.

Oh, how he was wrong.

His ears were suddenly shot through with an array of gunshots, and the swish of an arrow flying from Clint's hands. Pietro called upon F.R.I.D.A.Y. to show him what Clint saw from the camera on his bow. It arranged from shots of the ground to blotchy images of his expert precision marking its target. 

Clint was right.

He never missed.

He never would have to worry about missing after that day.

"Natasha, how many inside?"

"About 10, but I can take them all. You've far more on the outside, stay by the door and hit whoever you see coming."

"On it."

The camera shook as Clint dashed over to a tree and climbed it, quickly reaching a high branch and aiming invisibly at the soldiers that marched to the base. He took them out, one by one. 

At one point, his bow was facing a tree directly across from him. Pietro could see, in the corner, that someone was sitting in a tree across from Clint. He was in black, his hat a stark white that blended with his hair. In a way, he looked like Pietro. 

One thing was unmistakable, though.

He had a gun.

That gun was pointed directly at Clint. 

"Clint! To your left!" Pietro screamed, hoping the comm was still on. The screech smacked Clint and he turned, a solid thump resonating in the tree bark behind him. The archer slowly turned and saw a clear bullet hole in the wood.

Soon, he was falling. Once he hit the ground, he reached out and grabbed the camera and put it to where he knew Pietro could see his face. It was bloody, scratched, and a clear pool of red was staining the snow around him.

"Pietro?" he wheezed out, his breath already ragged. He could feel his lungs, on fire as fluid filled them. "Pietro, please, are you there?"

"Yes!" Pietro was bawling, no longer afraid of what Clint could or could not hear. "Of course, I'm always here."

"Listen, listen I have to tell you something, so just listen, okay? Just-" he coughed, a violent sound, one that gave the effect of nails on a chalkboard. 

"Yes? What is it? What can I do?"

"Take care of Natasha for me. I'm... I'm not going to make it. I feel the hole. It went straight through, babe. I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have snapped at you, and done all those dumb things, I should be the one out there! It should be me, oh god it should be me!"

"Shut up! I'm glad it wasn't okay? As your boyfriend, I am dutifully loyal and have the responsibility of keeping you alive and well. At least you're one of those." Clint could feel his mind already fading, his body sending shock waves into spasms that drifted through his chest from the mark of death. "I just... I gotta tell you something. I'm sorry I didn't say it earlier. Pietro Maximoff," he paused, his brain phasing in and out of consciousness, his heart slowing, and his eyes fighting to keep open.

"What? What is it?" Pietro was practically breaking, his head shattered and his heart blown to bits. "Please, Clint. Please stay with me."

"I'm here, I'm fine. I'm always here, alright? Always. I just- I just wanted to say I love yo-"

An explosion was heard in the distance, a sudden scream came from Natasha as she ran over to her best friend, the bow camera shattered, and Clint never got to finish his last word.

All that came from the comm was silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So?? Does your chest hurt are you gonna tell me about it in a comment or what huh huh huh


	14. Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow comment please??

Clint's funeral was short.

It consisted of the Avenger's team, Fury, Maria Hill, and Coulson. They all said something, whether it be a memory or sentiments, and they gently lowered the casket into the ground, right outside the new Avenger's base. Bruce and Steve were both comforting Natasha, who was crying for the first time they'd ever seen, and Wanda gently held a quiet Pietro. Silence rang out across the field, no guns, no violence, just peace.

"Pietro?" Tony asked, his facade of arrogance having vanished since the event started. "Do you want to say something?"

Wanda coaxed him to at least look at Tony. He was a mess, eyes bloodshot and red, tears staining his cheeks, stubble coating his face in a fine layer of pepper. It had been 3 days since Clint was gone, and it was so obvious that Pietro, the used to be happy go lucky punk, was broken.

Wanda nodded when Pietro spoke to her in quiet Sokovian, and she shook her head no.

When everyone had left, a gentle snow was beginning to fall, the soft flakes dancing about the grass. Pietro was sitting in front of the hole, drawing small hearts with his finger in the dirt that they had filled it with. He was singing too, a gentle lullaby from his country. 

"Don't you worry, darling dear.  
You haven't anything to fear.  
Wherever you go I will go  
Just to show I love you so."

Those last words replayed in his mind over and over again. Clint knew he was dying. He knew it the minute he fell. He had spared his last breath to reassure Pietro that everything would be okay. That nothing would hurt him as long as he was around. That he loved him.

The scene wouldn't stop flashing in front of his eyes.

He had been helpless, utterly helpless. He was stuck in that stupid hospital bed, hundreds of miles away, while his boyfriend was being ripped apart. He couldn't have done anything, but he felt that maybe he could. Maybe it was his fault he didn't heal in time. Maybe...

Everything was a maybe.

Only one thing was a fact.

Clint should have heard him say I love you back.

Snow began piling up on his shoulders, but he didn't move. He was stuck there, his legs firmly planted into the ground, the sorrow and despair he felt rooting him in place.

Pietro knew exactly what Clint felt at that moment. He knew it all too well. The silence, the darkness. The nothingness that comes with the other side. Pietro never wanted to experience that again, at least not until he was ready.

Now, that's all Clint had to look forward to.

The searing cold didn't even touch Pietro as he grabbed fistfuls of snow and smashed them back into the ground. He let loose a scream; a howl that rattled windows and anyone's ears who had the displeasure of hearing it. Everything suddenly was flowing through his veins, the realization that Clint was gone, Clint was really gone, and he wasn't going to come crawling back from six foot under. 

"Hey, kiddo," Pietro heard in his ear. He jumped, swatting at whatever it was. It sounded just like... 

"Where are you?"

"Right here, like I said I'd be. I never left, ya know? I've got a boyfriend to look after."

"You're not really here. I'm going crazy."

"Nah. This is pretty normal. I'm just a conjuring of your imagination to help you cope. Anyways, have you seen the news? I'm everywhere, babe. People are writing "Clint lives" on buildings, chanting it together around little shrine things, it's actually pretty nice. I'm not going anywhere. I'm always here, somewhere, somehow. Okay?"

"But you're not. You're not here at all. I made you up so that I don't go crazy. Maybe this is me going crazy. Just go away."

"Hey, hey, that's not very nice. I love you, and I hate to see you like this. You know, the carnival is in town? You should go for me. Win me something and leave it in my room. It would mean a lot."

Pietro sniffled and slowly stood up, the image of Clint disappearing with the wind.

"Get it together, Maximoff."

He turned and stalked back to the base, his feet loud and his heart heavy. He stepped in a car (which was automatically hot-wired to drive on its own, since Pietro couldn't drive and he needed it to get places farther than running distance) and told it where to go.

~~~

Pietro felt the car roll to a stop. He opened his eyes and blinked away the tears clouding his vision. He was shaking a little, the four cups of coffee he downed on the way making him jittery.

'Am I really going to do this?'   
he thought to himself, shutting off the engine and strolling (at 70mph) to the main gates. 

The place was packed; people waiting in lines, waiting for food, waiting, waiting, waiting. 

He just wished he could wait for Clint to come back.

Pietro made a beeline for a game, one of the impossible rigged ones. The guy behind the counter looked at him with a smirk before starting his spiel, but the runner had already tuned him out while he slid the man ten dollars (curtesy of Tony's wallet, which he didn't know Pietro had).

He was there again. Same setting, different day, different weather. There was a breeze, and it wasn't suffocatingly hot, a mild temperature. Somewhat colder. He was wearing that dumb sweatshirt, the same he always wore. Pietro wasn't even sure he ever changed. 

"You can't beat it."

"Yes I can."

"Oh yeah? You don't know any of the tricks like I do. It's rigged, ya gotta play em right."

"I thought you told me they were all rigged."

"They are."

"I see people win them all the time, so that makes no sense."

"Neither did me falling for you, yet here we are."

Pietro felt his cheeks heat up then and now, and he chucked the ball at the pins. They all fell, but he didn't knock them off the platform.

"See, you're not throwing it right. Like this." Clint was suddenly there, in real time, positioning his arm and coaching him. "Come on babe, I want a stuffed monkey."

Pietro threw again.

In his flashback, he easily made it and flashed his middle finger to Clint, who just laughed, knowing Pietro learned that from him. In reality, it landed off to the side and smacked the wood from under the booth. "Damnit!" He bit out, grinding his teeth. "You'd laugh at me if you were here."

"I'm sorry?" The man asked, confused. "Were you talking to me?"

"No," Pietro muttered before taking the last ball and chucking it into the basket. It rolled around and bounced out the edge.

He could hear the laughter playing in the back of his head.

"Thank you," he huffed and moved on, ignoring the change the man was trying to give him. Walking to the darts, he handed the new person some cash and took one up.

"A prize for every pop! Play till you win," she smiled at him as he aimed and threw.

Miss.

"Sure are good at this, aren't you?" the man's cocky American accent mocked him as he hit a balloon square in the center. 

"Oh please. I'm better than you at a lot of things, so are you really surprised?"

"No, I ust think I could do much better. Two with one dart. Bam, straight down the middle. I never miss, after all."

Pietro threw another one and missed. Missed. Missed.

"Sir, are you alright?" The lady questioned, concerned for him. He was gripping the dart so tight that his knuckles were white and a thin bead of sweat was trickling down his cheek. 

"What if I use my own dart?" Pietro asked, trying to look calm and collective.

"I'm sure you could? I'm not sure why you'd just have a dart, but-" she was cut short by the sound of a knife slicing open a balloon and thudding against the wall. She squeaked and raced towards the nearest prize, eager to get the man with the weapons away from her. "Here you go sir! Just for you!" She smiled, fake all be it, but a smile nonetheless, and handed it to him. He smiled and turned to hand off the stuffed animal to the person that was supposed to be beside him but never was and never would be again.

Pietro fought back the urge to throw up.

"You ready for the ring toss?" The voice said, messily eating cotton candy as fast as possible. "Bet you can't even get one."

"I can at least hit three more than you," he said, spinning a red ring around his finger after he paid. He tossed it casually, watching it land perfectly on a bottle. "Tada!"

The real life ring went flying with such a force that it went straight out the cabin and into another game set. Pietro huffed and went to retrieve it before trying again.

"You're bad at this," the other giggled, a light tinkle, one that sent shock waves down Pietro's back. Why was he here? Why did he have to keep appearing? Why couldn't he just leave him ALONE- 

"No, I'm not," he huffed and threw another one, watching it bounce off the corner and whiz past the man working the booth's head. 

"Yeah, you are."

"Shut up!" He yelled, making the man with his child across the booth flinch.

"I'm sorry sir, perhaps you should leave?" the man working said.

"No, no I'm fine. Sorry. Here's a twenty," Pietro handed it off before storming away and hopping into the Ferris Wheel line, flashing to the front without regard for others. 

He climbed aboard, waiting until he was stopped at the top to open his eyes. He felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tight as though he was an anchor, and the sky were rocky seas. Arms that were happy up in the air, with a fluttering heartbeat to match. He went to kiss the top of the heartbeat's head, but realized there wasn't one but his.

For the millionth time that day, Pietro allowed himself to cry.

Clint was gone. He would never be coming back. Every time the carnival rolled around, Pietro would torture himself into going and reliving one of the only dates he had ever gotten from that cute bastard.

When he was off the ride, Pietro raced to his car, tossing the stuffed animal into the back seat and driving off to the tower. He stormed past Natasha, ran over Tony, and barely dodged Cap's shield. 

Wanda knew this would happen. She knew it all too well.

It's exactly what her brother had done when their parents died. Shielded himself, didn't let anyone near him. Ran away and didn't come back after hours at a time.

She heard his door slam, a wail sound from behind it, and she knew how long it would be for him to resurface.

Poor Pietro.

If only he knew.

~~~

"Is he... you know... aware?"

"No," Natasha said over the comm. "We're all going with what you wanted."

"Thanks."

"You should see him. He's a mess. How much longer?"

"I haven't gotten in yet. I'm just now gaining her trust. It'll take me a while.

"Be safe, okay?"

"As always."

"I'm serious."

"Nat, relax. I'm fine. After all-" There was a pause, followed by the rustle of fabric and the scrape of metal. The soft click of a safety coming off of a gun sounded clear over the mic.

"I never miss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy I'm so glad you're ready to comment now!!


	15. Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow good luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do comment if you please

All he could see was dark.

The room felt cold, metallic even. It had a strange tinge to it, like something would come any moment and shoot him in the head. It left a bad taste in his mouth. A rag covered his eyes, scratchy and woolen, and his hands were bound in zip ties. They were extremely uncomfortable, the plastic biting into his wrists. 

He shifted. His ribs stuck him in the gut. At least two had been broken in the struggle to get him there. The agent who had shot his chest had hit exactly on target; just a smidge under between the heart and the lung. That hurt too. Everything hurt. Even breathing hurt, the pressure on his lungs increasing with every inhale he took. 

Do it for him.

A door slammed open and in walked a pair of heels, snapping across the concrete floor. He felt his leg bounce up and down, a nervous twitch that came with the job. The female was close, and he could sense her. Perfume radiated from her tall figure, bouncy brown curls enveloping her head, with about eight pounds of hairspray to boot. He coughed.

"How's it feel? To be taken out so easily, like you were nothing?" she drawled, pressing her foot down hard on his crotch, her mouth inches from his. "Shot out of the sky, like a baby bird?"

"It sucks," he spit, causing her to step away. He tried to ignore the new pain that was slowly emerging from his groin. "Why are you doing this?"

"The boy is of great importance to us. His sister? Waste of time. But the brother... He is of real asset. Isn't he your lover?"

"Not anymore," he snapped, a facade of annoyance and determination settling on his face. "Can't have that in this line of work."

Lies.

"That's fair," the lady smiled, dazzling white teeth shining under the one fluorescent bulb that lit the 20 foot space. "You'd take me, though?"

"Depends," he smirked. "Are you willing to let your guard down enough?"

"I like your attitude," she whispered, suddenly right by his ear. She traced a long fingernail against the side of his cheek. "What a sad old man you are," she frowned. "Beaten and weary and oh so confused. You just want answers. You just want safety for him. But you failed in getting it. A miracle you're still alive. But you're more useful to us breathing than not. I don't know why we didn't recruit you before S.H.I.E.L.D. did."

The man in the chair suddenly kissed her, making her snap out of her rude streak and drop her guard for a split second. He knew it. She had a weakness. 

That weakness was him.

"Trust me yet?" he muttered, voice smooth and sultry. If he imagined she was Pietro, it wasn't too hard, especially with the blindfold. He tried to pretend he couldn't feel the lipstick smudges on his stubble. 

"Maybe, maybe not," she exclaimed, her vicious exterior immediately snapping back into place. 

"What day is it?"

"It's the 8th of December," she said, acting oblivious to why he wanted to know. She knew exactly why. 

One week.

One week of his boyfriend not knowing. One week of his boyfriend dying on his own. One week of completely shattering his well being.

One week.

"You'll be back in time for Christmas, sweetie," she grinned, slipping a laugh through her teeth. "You'll see him soon enough."

She left, her heels clicking away, the metal bolts setting into place when she shut the door. 

He loosened his muscles. Rule #1 of being bound: flex as hard as you can, because the littlest amount of room can cause a world of difference.

Once the zip tie was undone (he somehow managed to get his arms around to his teeth, in which he bit through the plastic after a few hours of work), he stood, testing his mobility. He unwrapped the ropes around his ankles, taking the bonds with him. They could be used to gag anybody needed to keep silent, and he could use it as a weapon.

The code on the door had 7 numbers, and the only way he guessed them was by the amounts of heat he could feel coming off of them from the woman's touch. 

He silently vowed to thank Fury for the brutal year of sensitivity training.

The door slid open, and he cringed at the scrape it made. It opened into a hall, shiny and white, with ceramic tiles that glistened with polish. Metal rungs lead up to the air duct grid in the ceiling, and he decided that was his best route.

First mission, get his bow.

It was a rough climb through the vents, but he managed to reach the weapons room undetected. 4 men were guarding the quiver, and another 3 with the bow. He would have to take them out if he wanted to succeed. 

With a quick snap of the rope, he had the camera that served as a security watch in his reach. He yanked back, ripping it from the wall. It made a vicious crunching sound that even he could hear. The person in the security room would notice the camera had gone offline, so he had to move fast.

Faster than the 7 bullets that were streaming at him. 

He dashed back behind the metal, listening to them bounce of the steel. He jumped down, swinging from the light. His feet connected with a chest, and one of the guards was down. A swift kick to the head knocked him out. He took care of the rest of them, his bow back in his possession and his chest in flames.

He hoped it wouldn't cave in on him.

He wheezed for a moment before swinging back up to the ducts and crawling to where he believed the data library was kept. It wouldn't be in an obvious place like in the movies; no sensible terrorist group would leave precious data in a massive storage facility with hundreds of guards. Those are usually fake setups, where the hero gets tired and the onslaught eventually kills them.

No, instead it was usually located somewhere simple, like a small safe hidden behind a painting, or kept within the back of a cupboard in the kitchen. Of course, these are all locked and have traps set up to defend them, and they were very effective.

He had one shot at this.

He dropped into what seemed to be a gym. It was silent, the blue sparring mats glistening with sweat. A session must have just ended, which gave him about 10 minutes to get in, get out, and leave the premises. He hunted in his pockets before realizing they had taken his rigs. He should've known.

'Have to do without them,' he thought.

He sprinted across the floor, aware of anything that would come flying from the walls, or the eighty guards ready to pour in and catch him off hand. He made it to the equipment closet, where he found (behind the 250 lb weights) an incision in the floorboards. He gently tapped it, stepping back quickly when spikes shot up from the space. He waited for them to lower and undid the latch.

A syringe, a chip, and a scalpel stared back at him.

Oh no.

With modern technology being what it was, many groups had managed to find a way to insert data so that it is unforgettable. They take subjects who had nothing to lose and wiped them clean, then gave them the information and sent them off to give and receive more. Almost like a robot, trained and programmed to do one thing.

He had to make a decision.

He had to make one fast.

Shouts could be heard from the outside, a mix of "he's gotten out!" and "find him!" floating through the doors. He grabbed the supplies and slipped them into his vest before notching an arrow and skittering out of the training room.

300 guards.

20 arrows.

No problem.

He stepped into the hallway and fell in line, shouting the same lines the other soldiers were. It took them a few moments to catch on that he wasn't one of them, and by that time he had taken a gun and had fallen 4 officers. He made a beeline for the outside doors, but they closed, the sensory field shutting him inside. He banged on it, trying to find a weakness. 

Unfortunately, he wasn't as good at manipulating machines as he was humans.

"You tried, you really did."

A slow clapping could be heard echoing off the walls. In his confusion, he was forced into a chair, guards confiscating his weapons and emptying his quiver. The same woman from before marched up, a sarcastic swing in her step.

"You really thought you could get out of here without inserting that, did you? If you had known, the doors would've let you out, since it would have detected the data. But no, it picked up on a hostage, and it caused you to fail."

He bit his lip and tried to block out what she said, but she was speaking loud enough that every word was crystal clear, even with his busted earpiece.

"Scalpel," she snapped, the metal knife cool against her perfect hands. She walked over and drove it into his hip. He bit back a yelp. 

Damn.

"You know, once you have this in you, you won't remember a thing about him besides what's on these files. It'll tear you both to shreds, which I kinda like," she said, calm, casual, like she wasn't ripping someone's life apart. "But don't worry baby, you can always come back to me."

"Never."

"We'll see."

She took the syringe and jabbed it into his neck. The liquid was inserted, and a rush of nausea coursed through him. He would have vomited if he had had anything in his stomach. All his sensory motions were starting to shut down momentarily, and everything felt blurry, slurred. Even his eyesight looked like someone had taken a wet cloth to paint and smeared it on glass.

"Once that takes effect, we'll slip this little data chip into you and set you free."

"But Captain, isn't that what we don't want-"

"Be quiet, you don't know anything," she hissed, and the soldier stepped back in his place. 

The man's head lolled, his brain switching off. Ten minutes later, he was outside in the snow. 

His bow and arrow laid beside him, and he tested his limbs. His breathing was good, but everything felt like needles. He wanted to go home.

What was home?

The base tower. He began his walk, hitching a ride from a taxi that was willing to take him to New York. He was silent the whole ride, lacking anything to say. 

The taxi stopped hours later in front of Stark Tower, and he stepped out, giving the man what he had on him and promising he'd pay the rest later.

Bruce and Natasha had been sipping tea when they spotted a patch of red outside. Nat walked over to the window to see her bloody friend march to the door.

"Oh my god," she whispered. "He's back."

The whole team came rushing up to the window, Wanda leaving to bang on Pietro's door.

"Brother, please, you will want to see this."

"I already said go away!"

"Please!"

A mess of a man stepped out. Pietro was in his boxers, a nice layer of stubble coating his cheeks, his hair a mess and his eyes bloodshot and weary, like he hadn't slept in days. Purple moons were stamped under his eyes, and a cold aura was given off. 

"What do you want?"

"He's home."

"Who? Vision? He only left two days ago."

"No, Pietro. He's home."

It suddenly dawned on him, and Pietro almost fainted. He ran as quickly as possible to the door (after being forced to put some clothes on) and flung it open.

The man with the bow stopped in his tracks, his blank gaze facing the runner's fierce one. The whole team watched from behind.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Pietro screamed, slapping him square across the face. "Why aren't you dead?" Tears were slipping down his f cheeks and splattering on the carpet. "Why did you go? How are you here? Answer me, damn it!"

The other simply side-stepped him and entered the room.

"Pietro, calm down. We should have told you, but we didn't," Steve said, trying to comfort Pietro. 

"No! No, this is so wrong, the whole team knew? What is wrong with you all? Do you see what you've done to me?! You broke me!" he screamed. He turned to the newcomer. "Please! Talk to me!"

"Your name is Pietro Maximoff. You come from Sokovia. You were transferred to the Avenger's Initiative to fight Ultron, a weapon of destruction created by Bruce Banner and Tony Stark. You have high agility and speed powers that were granted to you through experiments done by a scientist named Strucker. You are very valuable to H.Y.D.R.A.'s special task force. They wish for you to carry out a deadly mission for them, as you are the only one that can pull it off. This data chip within my hip explains the mission completely. It has been downloaded into my brain so that it cannot be removed. In this technological sequence, this transfer has wiped me of any prior knowledge to other beings that were once close to me. I apologize, but I do not recognize you as anyone other than the target for a terrorist group. Any prior emotional connections have been erased."

With those words, the world shattered.

Pietro stood, quietly, not making a sound. When he finally looked up, anyone could plainly see the hurt in his eyes. 

"So," he said to Steve. "He faked his death so that he could infiltrate a base that had info about me, got that info, was forced to have his memory wiped, and now he doesn't remember me?"

Steve nodded, a solemn look on his face. "I'm so sorry, Pietro. Banner can see if he can reverse the chemical bioengineering, but it will be quite a while. Just remember that he did it for you."

The reason he hadn't reacted to Pietro's meltdown was because he simply did not know him. All the pain and struggles they had been through. Those precious moments of happiness. Gone, vanished, a fresh slate.

He had no clue who Pietro was asides from the data. He had no recollection of any past together.

All this, just to gather information that could possibly save him. All this strife the other had gone through, all the damage he had endured was because he wanted to save him.

Clint Barton had been wiped protecting the one he loved.

Clint Barton was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to comment am I right


	16. Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment lmao

Pietro watched him from behind the glass. 

Clint couldn't see in, so he wasn't able to tell what was going on outside of the grey room he had been sitting in for two hours. His gaze was blank, cold, unwavering and unfeeling. His hands were chained to the table, and his body was rigid, like he had a pole shoved under his shirt and taped to his back.

Nobody knew what he would do. They didn't know how far the chemical shot had gone and how effective it was. They had no idea if he was dangerous or not. Would the effects slowly wear off? Or would they be permanent?

Pietro didn't know if he wanted to hear the answer.

Vision appeared behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He had sent himself out to find Clint, as he was the only other one who didn't know of his fakery. 

"I wish I could understand your pain, young one. I do recognize your grief. I believe that in time he will be healed."

"Thanks," Pietro muttered, not in the mood for alien sentiments. 

As they focused back on Clint, they noticed that Steve had entered the room. Clint's head snapped up, his arms tensing as he stood and tried to get away from him. 

The runner could only remember how it had felt when Clint had done the same to him when he first came back from the dead. 

Steve stopped, putting his hands up. "Hey, Barton, I'm not here to hurt you. I only want to talk."

"His name is Pietro Maximoff. He is from Sokovia. He-"

"We've heard the speech. We have it recorded, and we understand. That is all you know. I'm only here to see if you have any other knowledge of the team. Can you sit back down, please?"

Steve pointed to the seat. Clint eyed it warily and slowly walked back around the table and sank into it. Steve sat in the chair across from him, the metal table the only thing separating them. 

Pietro and Vision watched intently for what would happen next. 

Cap stared him down, and the archer fidgeted uncomfortable. He began spouting blurbs of his speech, the only words he seemed to remember asides from "no" and "yes." At one point, Steve held up his hand, and he was silenced.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, voice soft and comforting. "Can you tell me my name?"

"No."

"Alright. Do you recognize this face?" He slid him a picture of Natasha. Clint seemed uncomfortable, his face screwing up in thought before muttering something quietly.

"What was that?"

"No."

Steve kept his patience as he continued to interrogate his former teammate. Any recognition of anybody was a negative. He couldn't seem to remember anybody but his sole mission target. 

When done, the other stepped out and pulled Pietro away from Vision into another room. Pietro was concerned; he had heard everything, but what would Steve do about it? He hoped they wouldn't have to use force to get answers from him.

For the past few days, Pietro had been forced to stay away from Clint. He wasn't allowed in the same room as him, and he couldn't go within 100 feet of him without having something blocking each other. The team feared that Clint had ulterior motives, and they had kept him locked up in the same holding cell they used to cage Loki in on the Helicarrier. He had been sealed away, until now.

His restraining order from Pietro was about to be destroyed.

"I need you to go in and talk to him."

"What?"

"You heard me," Steve said. "He only knows you. If you talk with him, maybe your voice will open parts of his brain he doesn't have current access to. I know it will be hard, but you're our best shot at reaching him until Banner comes up with something. Please," he wavered, as though it was hard for him to speak. "The rest of the team cares just as much for him as you do."

Pietro frowned, contemplating Steve's words. He decided to keep his mouth shut and just do what was asked of him. He stepped up to the threshold of the silent room and took a breath.

He had no way of knowing how Clint would react. He could lunge at him, try to knock him out, or manipulate him into thinking that he could trust him again. 

All he knew was that he had to keep his guard up. He couldn't give in to sweet nothings that could be tossed around and used to Clint's advantage. He had no idea what the whole mission was. He didn't know if he was being recruited or if he was to be killed by one of the best assassins in the world.

Pietro turned the handle and stepped in.

Clint didn't move. His eyes shifted from the table to him, but he didn't turn his head. He sat there, still as night, to the point where it didn't seem like he was breathing. Pietro slowly walked around to the front side, his every move being judged. The room was filled with tension, a tight feeling in the runner's gut telling him to get out of there. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

"Hello," Pietro stammered, nervous beyond control. "How are you?"

Silence.

"Lovely. Okay, so... Do you know who I am?"

Again, no response. The speech he usually shot at others who came to talk to him was not heard. Pietro could feel sweat dripping down his neck.

"Clint? Can you talk to me?" 

Nothing.

"Look at this picture. Tell me who you see." He slid the hostage a picture of Natasha. "Who is this?"

"Natasha Romanov, code name Black Widow. Former spy for the Soviet Union, current agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and one of the best assassins in the business. Part of the Avengers Initiative." 

Every word was laced with monotone. Pietro frowned. Why had Clint answered him and not Steve? He tried another picture, this time one of Tony.

"Tony Stark, known by the masses as Iron Man. Billionaire genius that took charge after his father's death. Pilots a suit of armor with a piece of shrapnel that attempts to pierce his heart. Has built an arc reactor to stop it. Founder of multiple robotic servants that are structured throughout his Tower's network. Part of the Avenger's Initiative."

Clint twitched a little, the vein in his forehead popping, as though he was tensing his whole body. Pietro slid one more picture to him, a picture of Steve.

"Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America. A war patron for WWII, and patriotic symbol for propaganda. A super serum user designed by Mr. Howard Stark, Tony Stark's father. Part of the Avenger's Initiative. Significant other is Peggy Carter."

Why would Clint tell Pietro about Steve when Steve himself had asked who he was and had gotten nothing? He sincerely wished he could understand; the hole in his chest caused by his wanting for his old boyfriend to be back...

Pietro felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the message.

'Come out here.' -Steve

He left the room, Clint fading back into his emotionless state of unawareness. Steve pulled Pietro aside yet again and slipped him a piece of paper.

"You're doing great. This is the last thing you need to ask him before you can leave if you want. Can you do this?"

Pietro clenched his fist around the paper and walked silently to the door. He entered the room, the same intensity as before radiating from Clint. 'Trust me!' Pietro screamed in his mind. 'Just trust me, damn it!'

"Clint, I have one more picture to show you before I leave. Are you ready?"

Clint nodded tersely. His jaw was clenched, like he was grinding his teeth together in an effort not to speak. 

"Do you know who this is?"

"No."

Pietro felt a lump form in his throat. He said goodbye and quickly left before he fought to keep under control outside the door.

"He's gone Steve," he said, heart crushed, a solemn tone to his voice. "He answered no."

"Banner has to get a serum done soon," Steve sighed. "We have no idea if time enhances the effects. These answers he provided us are very valuable. Thank you so much," he muttered as he walked out of the room. Vision followed him.

Pietro heard the door slam shut and he sank to his knees. He put his head in his hands, Clint's breathing barely heard over the mic that lead to the base room. He crushed the paper into a tiny ball and threw it into the corner. 

"No."

That reply kept ringing in his head.

"No."

"No."

"No."

Clint had said no to the picture. He didn't know who was in the shot. Not a single look of recognition had crossed his face. Clint had known everyone else, including him. Everyone but the one that mattered most.

Clint hadn't recognized his own portrait.

Clint had no idea who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm probs annoying with the comment thing but they mean a lot to me and keep me writing so if you guys would that'd be great™


	17. Basics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this fic is kinda winding down to the end now so ✌ nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment honestly

"What is your name?"

"Clinton Francis Barton."

"Where are you from?"

He hesitated. "I don't know."

"What are you here for?"

"To place Pietro Maximoff in the hands of H.Y.D.R.A."

"Try again." The voice was tired, impatient. 

"To..." A pause, one that stretched in awkward silence for a few moments. "To be a part of the Avenger's Initiative." His face was screwed up in thought, concentration evident. 

"Good. What is your job?"

"Assassin and field agent under the direction of Nick Fury."

"Well done, Clint," Steve smiled through his teeth as he walked out of the room. The archer watched him go, his hands now untied and resting gently on his lap. His posture was still ramrod straight, every move calculated and precise. The questioning had been going on for two hours; one hour held Clint's memorizing time, and the other was his test. It was meant to act as an attempt to trigger some form of recollection of his past. 

It wasn't working.

"It's ready," Banner's voice called from the doorway that led down the hall. "Do you want to do it?"

"It's what's best, I think. How does it work?"

Bruce pulled a vial filled with light green gel, then a large syringe from his lab coat. "Essentially, the chemicals coat his mind with this serum. It's electromagnetically stimulated, so it will need something to jump start it, but it can't be an electrical surge, as that will short out the effects and leave him with a thin film of slime covering his skull. Once it's charged, his brain synopsis will shoot it through and his cells will become saturated with it, in which the chemicals will work as a bond for the memory portion to piece together the missing links. Hopefully, it will at least get most of his memory back. He might not remember the first 10 years of his life or so, but he'll do fine without them."

Steve swallowed and nodded. It all sounded foolproof. Nothing was illogical within the scientist's plan. He turned to Pietro, who was watching Clint through the glass.

Other the past few days, Clint had warmed up to Pietro. He wouldn't eat unless the runner brought the food, he wouldn't use the bathroom unless Pietro let him out, and he wouldn't sleep unless he was talking through the mic into the room. He had grown attached to him like a dog, every beck and whim was based off of Pietro. The reason was simple, really.

Pietro was all he knew.

"Piet? Are you okay with this?"

"How likely is it to work?"

"We tested it on some amnesia patients from the clinic wing. It worked perfectly. 9.5/10, I'd say."

Pietro scratched the stubble on his chin. It had grown out to be a little thicker, the two weeks he'd endured with this drama causing him to forget basic human hygiene. The only reason he still smelled decent was thanks to Wanda, who forced him to leave the room and shower every other day. 

Were the odds completely in his favor? Not particularly. That .5 was enough to set him on edge. He wanted perfect, not even the slightest mishap could happen and effect Clint in any way other than it was supposed to. Then again, this was the only way they knew how to get his boyfriend back.

He didn't really have a choice.

Pietro nodded, showing Bruce into the room and grabbing on to Clint's hand before he could spasm. Anybody who came in that wasn't Pietro made Clint extremely fidgety and nervous, especially if the runner wasn't there with him. Clint immediately began to squirm, uncomforted by the sight of the needle.

Before anybody could move, Clint was on his feet, the only thing keeping him immobile being the hand that gripped his. He wanted to run, to get the mission done with, but he couldn't. These people wouldn't let him. They wouldn't let him do all he was worth for. Why why WHY- 

A shock went through his arm, and he collapsed.

"Okay, we have to shock him into submission. His heart rate must go up, and his pulse will need to be clear for me to get an accurate reading. Anybody have an idea?"

"You just injected him without a backup plan?" Pietro barked, holding the man in his arms. Clint was still, his eyelids fluttering as the gel took over his central nervous system and other basic functions. All his energy was going towards staying awake and keeping his bowels in. 

"Well, of course I have a plan. I just wasn't sure you'd go through with it."

"What is it?"

"You have to kiss him. I know, it sounds scientifically incorrect, but it will stimulate his brain enough for the gel to take hold. Quickly!" Banner exclaimed as Clint began shaking. Pietro faltered; everything was happening so fast, so sudden, it was too much for even him to keep up with, and it took a lot for him to become overstimulated. 

Kiss him.

No problem, right?

Pietro sat Clint up and pecked his cheek. Nothing happened except for the archer's violent reaction. He took a drunken swing at him, afraid of the contact, not used to having it near his head. He wanted out, he wanted this nightmare to be over, he wanted the darkness in his brain to cease.

Clint knew what was going on. He knew everything. He knew he had been sedated by H.Y.D.R.A. He knew, somewhere, in the back of his mind, that he was trapped by this... this imposter that was posing as someone other than him. It infuriated him, knowing that he wasn't him, that something was wrong, but he couldn't act upon it. He constantly felt like he was drowning, banging against the solid ice that was blocking him. Everything felt broken. He just wanted to let himself out of his skin, to crawl from this cage and breathe again.

Everything and nothing was stopping him.

Pietro sensed a shift in Clint. His moves weren't as precise; they were based more off of instinct rather than precision. He was fading, his mind drifting, and he seemed to have almost the same spark of life back in his eyes that he used to have.

He was slowly coming to, his mind struggling to wrap around the incomprehensible. The steroid he had been given before he arrived was still in his blood, still trying to take control.

"On the mouth, Pietro," Steve commanded. Pietro wiggled uncomfortably until the other two understood and turned around. 

"Thanks," he murmured as he let his hands trail up the scratchy face of the agent. He lingered there, watching Clint's eyes for anything. A sudden memory, a quick flash of recognition, something, ANYTHING-

And then Clint did what nobody would have expected.

He kissed Pietro first.

Pietro felt his insides melt, the familiar warmth of the other mixing with his own, a feeling he hadn't felt in weeks but had never gotten over. Everything about it felt right; nothing anybody would do could separate them in that moment. It was as if they had been submerged in their own world, an inky light swirling around them through air, both swinging on cloud nine. When they finally pulled away, Pietro held his breath.

He waited. 

And waited.

"Pietro?"

That voice. It was clear, void of monotone and the emptiness he had become acquaintanced with during the last few days. It was, quite simply, alive. 

Clint had surfaced. 

He was back.

The sheer look of joy on the runner's face caused Clint to suddenly start crying, his head tucked away in Pietro's chest. Steve and Bruce smiled before leaving them to go tell the others. Pietro could feel his heart racing; it beat so loud he wouldn't be surprised if Clint could hear it loud and clear. He allowed Clint to sob before kissing him again, tenderly, silencing the harsh racket the other was making. It was a moment of pure bliss, pure happiness and everything good in the world.

That moment embodied what it was like to be happy.

That moment was one of pure love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it will make my day if you comment please


	18. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lol idk if I like this but let's give it a shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment when done reading por favor

Clint's recovery was slow. He would be perfectly fine one moment and the next forget how to read or pour a cup of water. It was the most simplistic things; he would wrestle with clothes, battle opening cabinets, and occasionally struggle with remembering where he had seen the face looking back at him through the mirror. 

Every once in a while, he would have a breakdown, one where he would forget everything and stare off into space, trying to come back to reality. His vision would go completely dark, like he was sleeping, and he would be stuck in a void of nothingness until something familiar brought him back. A voice, a touch, a smell was all he needed to be there again.

That recognition usually came from Pietro.

Those situations terrified them both; Clint being scared of the possibility that next time one happened, he wouldn't be coming back, and Pietro being scared of losing Clint forever, this time for good. 

It was a rare occasion when Pietro wasn't around when Clint forgot something, but when it did happen, they had devised a plan. Since Clint could barely remember his qualms with some man named Loki (who, Clint came to find out, isn't actually a man at all), he allowed Wanda to peek into his mind, and she was able to sense when he was struggling. If she noticed Pietro wasn't there, she would either take care of it herself or send in someone close by to help him out. It worked nicely, the whole gang a group of therapeutic helpers who were slowly getting Clint back on his feet. 

Each team member even seemed to have their own little jobs; technology went to Tony, Thor supplying information about Asgard (if the need arose), Steve handled any questions about America and its past, and Natasha took care of all the questions or flashbacks he would have about his own life. Everything else was handled pretty well by either Pietro, Bruce, or Wanda, with Vision as a stand in every so often. 

Everything went well, most of the time. Clint would begin to recall his happier memories first; successfully recruiting Natasha, kissing Pietro for the first time, taking down Loki, all of the good times surfacing one by one. However, with every good comes an evil, and they came hard. 

It would be the smallest trigger, like a pencil snapped in half or a faucet left running. Sometimes it was a person, someone who's face he recognized from the crowd. The worst issues they faced when it came to these sudden recollections were when they happened in public.

Pietro and Clint were making their way downtown, a steady stroll setting the pace, as Clint was still banged up and Pietro needed to learn how to walk like a normal person if he would get anywhere in today's society. The archer had requested to start going out, as originally he was not allowed outside of the base. With Banner's permission and strict watch, he was routinely sent in a walk with his boyfriend so they could do "regular" activities, such as window shopping rather than piercing mannequins with arrows through the eye multiple times for hours. 

As they were walking, Clint suddenly snapped his head, his hands twitching. Pietro looked to where he was staring and spotted a tall man with immense cheekbones and a perfect posture. He walked with pride, his long legs and lean torso decked in a black suit with a forest green tie. His hair was black, cropped and cut in layers that reached to around his shoulders. He carried with him a golden cane and two books. His eyes blew cold gusts to anyohe looked at. He was someone who demanded to be looked at, his presence felt by everyone around him.

Pietro shivered when he looked at them.

Something about the man made Pietro uneasy, but it had sent Clint extremely on the edge. He was fidgeting with his clothes, tugging on his vest and casting glances to the other across the street. He was now stopped at a red light directly to their left. If they walked beside him from the street over, they could catch glimpses of him through the crowd as they moved to the other side. 

"How many?"

Pietro took Clint's hand and squeezed. If Clint was to have a problem soon, it was his duty to contain it or stop it, at least until they made it to a private area, rather than a large public gathering where anyone could've been watching.

In a low, raspy voice, the runner went through their questions, the ones that helped Clint calm down and recall the events in a timely and appropriate manner. 

Sometimes they didn't work.

"How many?"

"I don't know," Clint snapped, his head beginning to ache. "Hundreds, maybe."

Pietro frowned. He had only asked what his name was...? What was going on?

"How many are gone? How many of them are on your hands?"

"I said I don't know. I don't know. It wasn't me, it was... it wasn't me."

"Clint?" Pietro had pulled him to the side, as the archer had been taking frequent stops before dashing forward with his eyes squeezed shut. He was sweating, his heart racing as Pietro focused the attention on him.

"What is your name?"

"How many?"

"What is your name?"

"Clinton Francis Barton," he muttered, shaking his head and trying to push past Pietro. The other firmly held him in place. 

"I need you to breathe. Stop muttering how many. I'm going to ask the questions again." His voice was cool, collected and smooth. All other sounds disappeared as Clint used his energy to focus on that one voice. "Where are you from?"

"I... I don't know, I don't know, I-"

"Where. Are. You. From?"

"Waverly, Iowa." He felt as though he was straining for air. The world crackled and laughed, the sound of explosions ricocheting off the buildings. One arrow, and suddenly the entire helicarrier was beginning to fall.

How many?

"Focus on me," Pietro snapped, taking his head in his hands and facing him away from the strange man who had stopped just a couple feet from them. He was watching, waiting. "Focus on me! Where do you live?"

"The Avengers base tower, owned by Tony Stark." His responses sounded recorded, lacking animation and emotion. 

"What is your job?"

"Assassin and field agent under the direction of Nick Fury."

"Good," Pietro said as he took his hand. He was leading Clint away when the archer suddenly heard a sharp British accent come from behind them. It had called out his name.

The archer snapped around, lunging for the spot where the man should have been, but there wasn't anyone there. No sign of said person was left, and Clint was standing in the middle of a crowded street, swiveling every which way to spot him.

He was gone.

Pietro quickly came over and called to Stark over the comm, commanding him to get them a taxi to take them back to base. Tony must have heard the concern and fret in his voice, as he complied quickly with no sharp retorts. They were soon driving back to the tower.

Once there, Pietro spun around and snapped at Clint to tell him what had happened.

"What got into you? What bad memory was it?"

Clint had shut down. Whenever he had these episodes, as the team called them, he wouldn't talk for solid hours, sometimes days on end. Wanda was needed to get his thoughts out, and she was luckily around at the time.

"He did the... the thing again," Pietro explained as she gently touched Clint's temple. He didn't react; he just stared off into space as though they weren't there. He didn't even blink. 

Wanda shut her eyes and was immediately taken to his world, a world of ruin, of pity and misery and not a dash of hope. It was dark here.

Very dark.

She stepped forward and into a room where Natasha was sitting with the archer. Her hand gently rested on his arm while he fidgeted and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head like a mad dog. He was moaning too, agony wailing from his lips as his breathing snagged in his chest. 

"It wasn't your fault, Clint. You know that," she soothed, the widow's voice calm and collected. "Don't do this to yourself. It's over."

"It's not over," he snapped, throwing his head back and arching his spine as pain racked his body. "Can you tell me?"

"What?"

"How many?"

"Clint, don't go there."

"Tell me!" 

That voice was not Clint's. It was another's, one of immense power, of suffering and greed. It was of loneliness and grief. It was of despair and self consciousness. It was overshadowed by another, too deep in the shade to be heard. 

Natasha sighed and left the room, walking straight through Wanda. 

As soon as she left, the room exploded.

Wanda was shot back to the surface, suddenly understanding, dots dancing before her eyes.

"Did you see a specific face today? Anyone of significant interest? Someone weird, maybe making you of Clint uneasy?" she snapped, her tone uneasy as she leaned on Pietro for support.

"Yes, there was a man that triggered him."

Wanda solemnly nodded and led the unresponsive man to the couch. He slumped down and immediately fell asleep, his mind getting the rest he needed. She ran her hands through her hair.

"Remember what the others said about that... god? The one that had taken over Barton before?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"You two had seen him today. I'm sure of it. We need to discuss it with the team, immediately."

Pietro muttered something and nodded. Of course. More drama, more problems, another crappy scenario out to get his boyfriend. Did it ever stop? Would Clint ever get to be happy? "F.R.I.D.A.Y., please connect with Thor Odinson and Steve Rogers and request them to come down to the commons."

A few moments later, the two Avengers were standing across from the other three. Steve eyed Clint with concern, a worried look etched across his face. "What's the problem, Piet?"

"It's... him," he said, unsure of what else he could do to make the situation more understandable. "We saw him today. He was following Clint."

"Who?"

"We cannot remember his name, but I went into a dream infused memory and heard his voice. It was the man you told us about that Clint was under the control of," Wanda tried. Steve frowned and Thor took a step forward.

"This is serious. We are dealing with someone like me, someone of immense power. How he came from Asgard, I do not know. We need to detain him immediately. Are you sure that was who you saw?"

Wanda nodded. Steve was still a little confused. "Who are you talking about?" he asked, walking to Clint's side and gently touching his shoulder. The archer didn't do so much as flinch.

Thor gave him a look and crossed his arms. "My brother," he said slowly. 

"Loki is back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to comment !!!


	19. Against Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is okay I think it's kinda a filler so stay tuned as it gets better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna say it!!! I want ya to comment!!!

"He was useful."

"He was weak."

"He was an asset."

"He was taken out by a kick from a woman."

"Don't objectify the Widow," Loki snapped, his voice drawling. "She could knock you flat before you could say her name. Barton had the misfortune to be at the end of her wrath. However, he was of great help to us and I want him back for something new."

"Have you taken a fancy to this young man?"

"Of course I haven't. I had left love behind when Mother died. Even before then I felt nothing. He was a ploy, a tool that achieved what it was programmed to do and that was all. We need his skill, Gen."

Loki was speaking to a tall man with a thick mustache and a limber build. He was stocky, with long limbs, and a cold sweat always seemed to be running down his neck. He had beady blue eyes, and his nose was crooked, as though he had broken it. He was Loki's latest lackey, a warrior from Asgard that was rejected by the army due to his appearance and unskilled ways. He knew all about Clint Barton; he had been watching him every step of the way after Ultron went down.

Gen shook his head. "How are you going to get him in your power? You lost your staff long ago."

"You don't think I know that? I can work that power with just my hands. The staff was more or less for effect. I do need the infinity stone, however. As long as I have that, I can do anything. We just need to snatch it from that crazy alien they have on their side."

"Sir, we're crazy aliens too."

"Shut up," he snapped. "I'm aware of that."

"Well, what about that guy? The one that is always with him, the quick one?"

"Who?"

"Surely you know of him," Gen laughed uneasily, dropping the gesture when Loki shot knives at him through his glare. "He's Barton's boyfriend, sir. Without him, Barton doesn't function. You know what went down at the H.Y.D.R.A. station. He's useless without the other."

"Boyfriend...?" Loki thought for a moment, silent. He then walked briskly to Gen and took his hand, a blue light coming from his palm. "Understand?"

Gen nodded and walked almost mechanically to the door. His mind had been wired to a specific mission. 

Obtain Pietro Maximoff at any means necessary. 

If the mission fails, don't come back alive.

~~~

Pietro sat in front of the fireplace, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. Both him and Clint were wrapped under the same blanket, with the archer dozing off on his shoulder. He always seemed to be sleeping; the middle of dinner, at 2:00 in the afternoon, and Pietro even once caught him in the shower snoring away.

He was comfortable, so he didn't mind. A soft music floated in from Bruce's room, who was just down the hall. Clint was happy, he was happy, and everything was right. 

Of course, something had to come and ruin his moment of bliss.

A heavy thud sounded from the floor above. He scurried up, letting Clint fall over and jump in shock. He stood, bleary, his knees weak. It took him a moment to gather that it was okay to have fire in the house as long as it was contained, and for a little while he felt as though he was missing a knee. More thumps were coming from upstairs, like someone was walking with weighted shoes on. 

Pietro ran to the base of the stairs while Clint collected himself. He soon made his way over, his bow grabbed blindly off the mantle. He notched an arrow and aimed up the steps as Pietro took a wary stair and began climbing.

The thumps stopped. Everything was silent for a moment, like whoever it was had realized he needed to be more quiet. 

A girl screamed.

"Wanda!" Pietro shrieked and raced up the stairs, being in the doorway in less than two seconds. Wanda was sitting on the bed, her hair being gripped by a tall man with an ugly sneer. "You let her go, you son of a bi-"

"Ah ah ah, that's no nice way to talk to the person with your sister. With a snap, I can kill her. Do you really want that?"

Pietro started to move forward but was stopped by an out of breath Clint who had finally found use in his legs and had stumbled up the stairs. "Don't... make things worse," he panted, a little winded. His legs had given out half way up, and he had forgotten how to walk, so he sort of flopped up the rest of the way. "Just comply with what he says."

"Okay, what do you want?" Pietro snapped, fire in his eyes.

"You," he casually pointed to the runner. Clint looked up and frowned right as the man made eye contact with him. "That's all. Can I have you?"

"No," Clint answered for the other. Steam could almost be seen coming from his ears.

"Oh, where are my manners? Can I have you, please?"

Pietro suddenly dashed forward and grabbed onto Wanda, kicking the man away from him. The warrior smashed into the dresser, and the mirror shattered on the impact. He hopped back up, unphased, kicking Pietro's legs from under him and gaining control of Wanda again. 

Wanda worked her magic and sent him flying across the room, his elbows colliding with the wall and making two holes that eerily looked like eyes. He immediately got back up, crashing into a hamper and sending clothes everywhere. He forced his way back to Wanda, but halfway to his target, he fell without a word. A solid thud had come from his chest.

"Clint!" Pietro screeched and ran to the guy. He was clutching his torso and attempting to pull the arrow shaft from the wound. His face was contorted in pain, but he seemed to be alive enough for them to drag him to the bed and throw him down on it. Clint had already notched another arrow, and the rest of the team was blearily slipping into the room. They must have heard Pietro scream.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked, watching as Clint stepped on the man's arm, his other foot firmly planted on the mattress.

Pietro had to admit.

He looked pretty hot.

"Who are you?" he snapped, anger shorting out any other emotion. Hurt Wanda? Come to take Pietro away, and all of it because of him? He was causing more trouble to the team than he was worth; at least that's what he thought. 

"None of your business."

"Answer me," he hissed and jabbed the arrow into his elbow. The intruder winced and bit his tongue. "Who do you work for?"

"I am Gen, a god from Asgard. You should be fearing ME-" He was cut off when he spotted Thor with a small bear tucked under his arm. "Odinson?" he whispered, suddenly terrified. 

Loki had conveniently left out the part that the Prince of Asgard was part of this team.

"Genlar?" Thor exclaimed, stepping up to the bed. He clenched his hand around his wrist and motioned that Clint could get off. The archer begrudgingly complied. "What are you doing here? Are you hurting my teammates?"

"Odinson, you know very well I am a kind person," he said, his voice filled with hesitation, every word sounded out to the letter. "I meant no harm here. I only came to speak with your friend, Clint Barton.

"Oh, shut the fu-"

"Barton, watch your language," Steve butted in. Natasha snipped a laugh.

"Whatever."

"I believe you broke into my house," Thor said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Do you know how that is punishable in Asgard?"

Gen's eyes swelled with fear. "Oh, Thor, we're not on Asgard! I hope you understand..."

"I don't think I do. How did you get Heimdall to let you down? He hasn't spoken to you in centuries."

"There are other means."

"I've heard that before," Thor chuckled. "From my brother, Loki. He's the only one who knows the portals out of Asgard to different realms. Aren't you acquaintances with him?"

Gen swallowed.

"Actually, I'm quite sure that you were sent here because of him. He has a specific... fixation on Clint. Lady Natasha can tell all about that. Are you here on behalf of him?"

"Um..." he stuttered. He already knew how this would end.

"Ah, yes, as I figured. Now, lets take a poll. Who votes for punishment to go out to this citizen of Asgard as our royal law decrees?"

Clint's hand immediately shot up, followed by the slow decision of the rest of the team. Thor nodded, smiling.

"Wonderful," he said, lifting the man by the wrist and slowly swinging him in the air. "Stark, I am afraid you will suffer slight damage to your house."

Tony frowned and started to say something, but before he could finish, Thor was swinging Gen on his wrist before he let go and sent him flying through the walls and free falling 30 stories to the cold concrete streets of New York. All that lingered in the air was a soft yelp and the sound of traffic.

"Is... Is he dead?" Steve muttered, slightly concerned on whether or not Thor just committed murder. It was one thing for Clint to shoot at him; that was his job, he got paid for it. Thor, on the other hand... To put simply, how was one to justify a god's actions through law?

"No, he shall be fine," Thor smiled and slapped Steve on the back. "He is most likely off to Loki's "lair" once more. I hope this quick and easy defeat deters Loki from coming back. I shall send for a portion of our army to track them and arrest them both. They should no longer be a threat. I apologize for the fright, Lady Wanda. On Asgard, we kick the intruder from our house and ban him with an enchantment, but I thought it was okay to bend the rules on behalf of the circumstances."

Wanda just smiled and nodded. They all shuffled from the room, including her, who followed her brother and his boyfriend back downstairs to the fire. She snuggled into a recliner directly across the couch, Clint bringing her a blanket before cuddling next to Pietro on the couch. The runner laid on top, and it felt like someone had rested a cloud on top of him. They comfortably rested, a soft fabric coating them like a burrito. 

"Do you think he'll come back?"

"Who?"

"Loki."

"Who?"

Pietro chuckled at the plain confusion on his bf's face. He had clearly already forgotten the man who caused the problem in the first place. He sighed, kissing him gently before curling up and tucking his head in the crook of Clint's neck. Clint's hand found its way to the small of his back and let it rest there, drawing tiny circles on his skin, his hands tickling and a little cold. 

"Hey, can you guess the one thing I hope you never forget?"

"What? How to breathe?"

"Nope."

"How to bathe myself?"

"I doubt that would be a problem, as long as I was the one to help."

"Pietro!" Clint snorted and almost threw the smaller boy off him. They both laughed but quickly quieted when Wanda stirred. "Fine, uh, how to sleep?"

"Nope. One more try."

"How to... blink? Mechanically blinking sounds like it would suck."

"Nope, nope, and nope. All wrong."

"Then what is it?"

"I never want you to forget that I love you." He smiled before closing his eyes and falling asleep. Soft mutters floated off his lips, his breathing gentle and light. Clint felt something shift, as though more of his brain was aligning to get him back to functioning. He grinned. Without this... this DORK, he wouldn't have gotten better whatsoever. It was for him he risked his life many a time. It was for him he lost it all. It was for him that he gained it back. It was for him that he had given his heart to.

"I love you too," he whispered before falling away into his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's v annoying but I love getting comments and you should love giving me comments :) good trade off


	20. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k I'm p sure there is no more sadness in this story so enjoy this gift

"I can't believe you're making me watch these movies."

"I can't believe you don't like them."

Pietro was curled up next to Clint, munching on a bowl of popcorn smothered in Parmesan cheese and salt. Clint had his legs crossed, absorbed in the show before them. 

If there was one thing not many people knew about him, it was that the master assassin absolutely adored the Twilight saga.

"Clint, this movie is the dumbest thing ever," his boyfriend whined as the girl ran into the woods, the vampire hot on her heels. "I bet you only like these because you think Edward Cullen is hot."

"Do not!"

"Do too."

"Okay, okay, you got me there. He is a fine man," Clint chuckled, feeling his cheeks heat up a little. 

"I'm going to dress up as him for Halloween so you can fawn over me like you do him."

"You won't have that costume on for long."

Pietro punched Clint in the side as hard as he could. It didn't hurt, as his position prevented him from putting any force into it. "Don't say that!" he laughed, his voice a little shaky. Clint laughed too.

"I was only kidding, babe," he smiled, the flush on Pietro's cheeks filling him with bliss and peace. "I meant no harm."

Pietro rolled his eyes. Clint was such a tease, always making innuendos. It had all started back when they couldn't stand to look at each other, and Clint would whisper dirty words through the comms to annoy Pietro. Pietro had eventually started to make comebacks, and the whole team would either listen in curiosity or try not to laugh and blow their cover. The team had made it into a sort of contest, and at the current moment, Pietro was down by 2.

The scene where Edward and Bella were in the forest and were talking was on, and Clint became enraptured with the TV once more. Something about these teen chick flicks really got to him. Maybe it was because his life was so quick and heavy, and sometimes it was nice to watch other people experience what he did.

Of course, he couldn't relate to sparkly vampires, but he could relate to the constant fear that someone was trying to get him. In a way, reality wasn't as different than fiction.

"You're cold, you're pale, and you sparkle in the sun," Bella murmured, voice strained. Edward stared at her with a fierce intensity, daring her to say more. "I know what you are," she finally said.

"Say it, out loud."

Clint suddenly muted the TV and leaned down to whisper in Pietro's ear. 

"You're Pietro Maximoff."

They both lost it, howling on the floor, their breath knocked out of them from falling off the couch. Pietro half heartedly jabbed Clint in the side, which made Clint laugh more. Pietro calmed down a tad and gathered his wits before doing it again. The archer squirmed and giggled. One more time, he poked the man's side.

It slowly dawned on him. He had found the holy grail of payback. He had found the one thing the other could not control, with no amount of training given to stop it.

Clint Barton had a weakness.

Clint Barton was ticklish.

And now Pietro knew it all too well.

Clint saw the look in Pietro's eyes as Pietro hovered over him, his hand gently resting on his side. He tensed up, scared, all laughter fluttering out of him. Was there something wrong? What was he so concerned about?

Pietro attacked.

Clint jolted and his back arched as he wheezed, the tickling ranging from his abs to under his arms. Pietro took this as an opportunity to feel his bf's muscles (in all honesty, he was the equivalent of a teenage girl who had gotten the chance of a lifetime to see her favorite celebrity and admire him up close. He adored Clint's physique so much; it was shaped and sculpted, with the general rock hard abs, but he still had a small bit of chub around his waist that was accented by his V. Clint was self conscious about his gentle chunkiness, whereas Pietro thought it was the cutest thing in the world) and drink up the sight of his abs ripple where his shirt pulled up, the small patch of flub making his heart melt. Clint felt the shirt be tugged up under the haze of laughter, and he quickly tucked the hem into his pants so that it wouldn't happen again, but Pietro wouldn't let him. He swiftly yanked the shirt from the other's control and pulled it over his head, completely exposing Clint's upper body. 

Pietro's face flushed. For a moment, he forgot all about the tickle war and just sat there, gazing. 

Clint was so beautiful, and he was so in love.

Clint, on the other hand, didn't take this moment of adoration in silence. Instead, he used it to devise a plan; when one was formed, he went for it.

Pietro yelped and fell back, his head stopped from bouncing on the floor by Clint's hand. Clint took the time to confirm he was okay before... before... well. How grand. What a perfect time to completely forget how to tickle someone.

He sat there a moment, a stunned confusion wafting over him, and Pietro's brow creased in concern. Was Clint okay? When he saw his hands hover his torso shakily, he knew the problem. He didn't take this as an opportunity to lunge though. He waited, watching for what Clint would do. 

Clint suddenly grew the worst, evilest grin as he slowly moved his hands down on Pietro's shirt before he began his assault. 

He had remembered.

Oh no.

At some point during their fight, Tony had walked in and had immediately walked back out. He didn't need to know what was going on, and he could barely choke out "Get a room!" before dashing away and shutting the door from which he came.

The momentary flash of Clint, shirtless and on top of Pietro was enough to scar him. Possibly for life.

Pietro squirmed and giggled, wobbling on the floor as his face flushed with color. His laugh was a melody, a symphony of joy and happiness that made Clint's heart swell while he tickled the life out of him. This went on for a few moments until Pietro's leg jerked and hit home on Clint. 

The archer let out a wheeze before gently crawling back onto the couch and cupping himself, as though that would soothe the pain. 

Pietro held his breath as Clint internally screamed. He managed to flip over and look at Pietro, who was biting back an outburst. "Don't you dare," he hissed.

He couldn't hold it in.

Pietro was howling; he felt apologetic but was unable to collect himself. Seeing the look on Clint's face was too much.

Vision floated in during all of this, and he raced to Clint's side. "What is wrong with Barton? He appears to be in pain."

Pietro couldn't hold in another burst of laughter as Vision gently lifted Clint and brought him into the kitchen despite his protests. 

"I'm fine dude, don't," he let out a sudden groan. "Worry about me."

"I have researched the common extremities that come with audacious pain within the lower region when hurt prior. I know what to do," he said, his voice as monotone as always. He opened the freezer and took the ice box out. Clint's eyes widened as the alien dumped the entire contents onto his crotch. 

He screamed.

"AAAH," he yelled, squirming and falling off of the counter. Pietro dashed over and caught him, gently laying him on the couch, his legs slipping from him on the way over due to how weak he was from laughing. Vision frowned and cleaned up the ice before moving on, not quite understanding what was so... comical about the situation.

Once they were both tucked away on the couch, the movie resuming, Clint began to absentmindedly stroke Pietro's hair. Edward's fingers moved across the piano effortlessly, a soft melody lulling Pietro into a sleepy state. Clint hummed along to it, his voice matching harmoniously to the song. 

"Christmas is coming up soon," Clint said, looking out the window as the first snow of the year began to fall. Pietro muttered something and snuggled into his side. "What do you think you want?"

A quiet snore was his response. Clint smiled, his heart beating just a little bit faster. He kissed the top of his head and played with Piet's slender fingers. He gently touched his ring finger. Clint knew exactly what he wanted for Christmas. He couldn't wait to see that gold band wrapped across his finger. Pietro couldn't wait to see the same one on Clint's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha you thought I forgot about commenting NOPE please comment xoxo o3o


	21. Merry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Christmas chapter yeah!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment pls tis the season

"Clint, wake up."

"Mmgrph."

"Clint, you gotta get up."

"I don't wanna."

"Clinton Barton, if you do not wake up in three seconds I will call Natasha in here and make her get you up."

"But-"

"One."

Clint had never gotten up faster in his life. 

Pietro smiled and walked over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind, feeling the muscles on his back ripple as he yawned and stretched. He let his hands wander, tracing every outline, every crevice and canyon that made Clint, well, Clint. 

He smelled heavenly.

Clint muttered out something incomprehensible. "What?" Pietro asked, half paying attention and half letting himself become enraptured with the archer's being. He still had sleep in his eyes, and he was bent over a little, his face scratchy with stubble from a week ago. Purple moons danced on his cheeks, showing many a restless night given to nightmares and tragedy. The night before had been no exception. 

Pietro had slowly awoken to a faint siren. It wailed, buzzing in his ears as he sat up and cleared his head. Then, he realized it wasn't a siren. It was Clint, sitting stock still, yelling at the top of his lungs. He was covered in sweat, and his breathing was short, as though he couldn't get enough air in. He was writhing, his legs moving wildly to gain purchase on whatever ground he was trying to find. Pietro's name would be uttered between the howls every so often. 

Pietro had jumped up, ran to the bathroom, grabbed a glass of water, and poured a little into Clint's mouth. He shut it long enough for him to swallow, and when he opened his mouth again, he seemed more relaxed. He was still tense, however, like he would start screaming again any moment. Pietro dribbled a little more into his mouth and Clint finally slipped back into his own world. 

This happened nearly every night.

"I want cosmee," he whined, his mouth working to function properly. 

"Try again."

"Crawfish."

"One more time."

Clint blinked slowly and just began moving forward towards the kitchen. He fumbled down the hall with Pietro still attached to his hips before shaking him off to begin his morning ritual. It was almost religious, the way he did things during the early hours. 

Cup, filter, coffee grounds, water, coffee machine, all done in less than 2 minutes, with a splash of cream and sugar. Without this, he wouldn't make it till noon, let alone through the day. 

As Clint was pouring his drink, he realized he wasn't pouring the coffee into anything anymore. He was just... spilling it all over the counter. He looked up and saw Pietro sipping from his mug, a sly look on his face. 

Clint didn't have time for this.

The archer casually strolled over, taking the pot with him and curling up beside his bf while taking a long swig. It was bitter, and it had a sting to it, but it would suffice. Whenever he tried to take a sip from Pietro's cup, he would be found laying on the couch, the runner across the room with his hands clasped tightly around it. 

"So will you finally tell me why you have awoken me at such an ungodly hour?" Clint asked, voice legible, some of his strength starting to come back. He scratched his stomach, doodling little pictures with his nail across his abs. 

Pietro tried his best not to spill his coffee down the front of his shirt.

A sudden crash came from the doorframe and in burst Tony, shouting something about presents and holding a shot glass in his hand and sliding it down to Pietro. Before he could reach it, Clint bolted to pick it up and downed the Scotch in one gulp. His eyes widened, and he was suddenly awake.

"Merry Christmas, assholes," Tony laughed and hugged Clint. Pietro smiled and hugged him too. He smelled like peppermint and cologne.

"You too, big guy," Clint smiled, his body kicking into gear now that the coffee was in effect and he had poured a little of the liquor into his cup. 

"You guys excited for presents?" Natasha asked, her hair frizzled and her face somehow flawless. Bruce came in after her, and the rest of the team trickled into Tony's stainless state of the art kitchen. Thor felt around until he found a poptart and ripped it open, offering one to Vision, who took it and nibbled on the pastry. 

"Of course, what kind of question is that?" Steve said as he plopped himself down in the chair. There was a pause, a moment of silence that lingered in the air until they all realized; it was Christmas Day, and they could all open them now.

The group of 5 year old adults dashed into the living room, where a lavish tree was decorated with tinsel and candy canes. They all gathered around and each grabbed their presents from under the leaves. 

Pietro was essentially vibrating. He and Wanda had never had a real Christmas before. The most they had ever gotten was a jar of pickles that some man gave to them when he was drunk and they were alone on the side of the road. Just holding something that he was able to tear his hands into was a joy in itself.

That, and the fact that he had a surprise for Clint.

"Hey, Barton, you good?" Tony called over as Clint stated blankly at the box he held. As embarrassing as it was to admit, he... had no idea how to open it. He shook it a little, hearing the contents rattle, then gripped the edge with his teeth and pulled. 

Nothing happened.

He tried again. The tape was holding steadfast, and it wasn't budging anytime soon. He tried tossing it up into the air, hoping it would come undone. Again, nothing.

"Uh," he mumbled, eyeing the wrapping paper as closely as he could before Natasha snatched it from him and opened it himself. 

The Avengers had finished opening their gifts and hot apple cider had been placed in all of their hands when Pietro pulled out a big box that was hidden behind the couch.

"This is for you," he grinned as he gave it to Clint. "It's your last gift for today."

Clint nodded and worked the paper off, a slow process, but a doable one nonetheless. He frowned in disdain as the contents revealed...

Another box.

He peeled open that one too. Yet more Santas and Snowmen stared back at him. He continued this process until he held a box no bigger than his head. He slowly unwrapped it, eyeing Pietro the whole time. Something was up, and he wasn't below expecting a prank.

Inside the last box was another box, but it was unlike the rest. It was black, with a shiny satin ribbon on top. He took it out, smoothing his hand over the velvet that encased the cover. He looked up to see Pietro kneeling in front of him. 

His heart stopped.

"Clinton..." Pietro paused for a moment. "What's your middle name?" he asked quickly, a slick sweat running down his neck. How could he forget it in a time like this?

"Danger," Clint said, completely serious. 

"It's Francis..." Natasha sighed and shook her head. Clint shot her a look, but she just laughed.

"Right. My apologies. Clinton Francis Danger Barton, ever since I laid eyes on you, I knew you would be a pain in the ass."

The boys all erupted in a chorus of "OOOO" and "you just got BURNED, Barton." Natasha and Wanda both gave them such a glare that their hearts turned to stone and they focused back on the scene.

"But... something changed. Something shook me up so bad that I could see another side of you. Another side that I wanted by my own forever. I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend eternity with other than you. You are my one and my only. I love you, and I wish I had said it so many times earlier, but now is the one time it matters. May I ask for your hand in marriage? Will you marry me?"

Clint stood up. Everyone waited with baited breath for the reply. Wanda held her phone up so she could capture the moment. They all expected the rough and tough archer to breakdown and cry out a yes before hugging the life out of the other.

Instead, Clint just walked away.

Wanda dropped her phone. 

Pietro felt his heart physically shatter before he was up and running. Nobody had time to catch him, and they heard two doors slam shut at the exact same time. 

So much for a Merry Christmas.

~~~

Pietro opened his door for the first time when he heard a sharp thunk land on the wall. He was a mess; his eyes were bloodshot, his hair was dirty and tangled, and his clothes were stained with the Pepsi he had spilled down his front a couple hours ago. It had been four days since the proposal, and not a word had come from Clint. He was in the same state, sad and alone in his room. 

The first thing the runner noticed was the arrow jutting from the hallway. The second thing he noticed was that it had a note. The third thing was that the arrow had a small bag attached to it.

He ripped the weapon from the wall and shut his door again. Fumbling with the strings, he opened the note first. One simple word was written on it in scratchy handwriting.

Yes.

He quickly opened the bag with blinded eyes that stung with tears. He let them slide down his cheeks as he pulled out a ring, the silver band engraved with the Slovokian scripture that read 'I love you.'

He was at Clint's door in a heartbeat.

"I'm so sorry," were the first words out of Clint's mouth as he enveloped Pietro in a hug. "I didn't know what to do. I panicked; I was going to propose to you on the same day. I didn't mean for this to happen. Do you still love me?"

"Yes!" Pietro cried, pulling Clint into an intense kiss, heat and love pouring from the two as they stood wrapped in each others arms in the middle of the hallway. The ring on Clint's finger was cold on Pietro's side.

Wanda could sense what had happened and was mentally telling the others. The whole building seemed to relax; everyone's pent up stress over the situation had been diminished.

The wedding would go on, and the two heroes would have a celebration for for kings.

That is, as long as Natasha, Wanda, and Thor got to plan it.

And Tony had full control over the bachelor's party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!!


End file.
